


how do you like your coffee (hot or cold)

by akross



Category: GOT7, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Implied Sexual Content, Kim Namjoon Kind Of Really Asked For This, M/M, Multi, People Are Bad With Feelings, also badboys on bikes, not just yoongi, who aren't really all that bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 212,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akross/pseuds/akross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All that Kim Namjoon knows for sure is that every Friday, at six fifteen sharp, he’s going to make a venti peppermint mocha, with extra chocolate chips, chocolate syrup, triple whip, and that on that same Friday night, at ten thirty, he’s going to make a tall citrus green tea frappuccino.</p><p>Alternatively: Namjoon finds that there are definitely benefits to being a Starbucks barista.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Thank fuck I changed to nightshift"

**Author's Note:**

> first: i wanna thank my beta/savior: [leh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/marzipan_bubbles); this piece would be a wreck without you, and definitely unfinished. thanks for always (literally) kicking my ass into gear. love ya to bits fam ❤ 
> 
> and now, to get a few things off of my metaphorical plate:
> 
>  **disclaimers:** i can assure you that you will find a handful of cast members to be ooc, and i apologize if i portray certain characters in lights you find distasteful. or, scratch that, i'm not sorry. this is purely a work of fiction, utilizing a cast of people that do, in fact, exist, irl; of course everyone is going to be ooc, either slightly or overwhelmingly so. welp. 
> 
> and i also wanna say that this work was inspired by a handful of others fics; all unique in style and such. thank you, authors who shall not be named, for being so wonderful and lovely, i hope i can one day be like you all ! ;;
> 
>  **content notes:** i feel like the most important thing you should know is that namjoon is a really cute barista slash college student? and an absolute nerd, i swear.
> 
> but in all seriousness, i remember i tried to keep this piece fairly consistent with a serious tone, but that...didn't really work out. it's still heavy in the cliche department, though, so beware of cheesy tropes! they'll getcha! (and also, beware of grammar mistakes and blanks and other formatting terrors; gonna make another sweep over my work for extra edits)
> 
>  **warnings:** the most concerning element of my piece is probably only the cursing...? but there's nothing terribly explicit, and nothing derogatory. when needed, i promise to insert warnings in individual chapters, though ! 
> 
> and so now, i hereby release you; please enjoy ! 'v'

♪

 

In all honesty, Kim Namjoon lives a normal life.

 

That’s it. It isn’t _perfectly_ normal, it isn’t _depressingly_ normal -- it’s just...normal _._ No crushing college debt threatening to throw his life into a roadside ditch, no too-good more-than-just-a-friend with just the right amount of nice to make things boring. It’s...normal.

 

Namjoon’s a college student; senior year. He’s just another gay, twenty-two year old put being put through the gridlock of college. His grades are far above average, his IQ is a steady one hundred and forty nine, he majors in music, and he follows his semi-unrealistic dreams as best he can. It’s just a little unfortunate that his life has a near exact break-even tally of Good Stuff™ and Bad Stuff™.  Namjoon keeps track. Kind of.

 

But then again, the Good™ and the Bad™ are just one mess of have-happened’s and haven’t-happened’s -- case in point, Namjoon’s gone on dates, but hasn’t tried anything serious. Namjoon doesn’t know what to label as the good and the bad -- so he just doesn’t.

 

And Namjoon’s never experienced anything deemed as life changing, or... _extreme_ ; at least, by society’s dictionary. Gone travelling around the world? Nope. Ever broken a bone? Thankfully, no. He hasn’t even been bungee jumping, for god’s sake (not that he’s even interested, though; no thanks).

 

Really, the worst thing that’s ever really happened to Namjoon was when he’d passed out in the midst of an audition (in front of at least _two hundred and fifty other people_ , god), thanks to the most inconvenient case of the common cold. But _hey_ , he’d really wanted the part, and if he could stomach tests and quizzes while sick, one simple audition shouldn’t have been so difficult (the black eye he’d awoken to after falling flat on his face that day begged to differ, though).

 

The point is -- Namjoon is an average, _average_ human being. And sometimes, he wonders if life would be better off if he wasn’t.

 

\--

 

“ _Why_ are you taking night shifts, I thought we were friends?” Hoseok whines, like the totally respectable adult he is.

 

Namjoon successfully maintains his composure; he’s been through this before. Or, specifically, this is the fifth time today. “I told you, Hobi, morning classes are gonna be refreshing,” he says, eyes on his phone. “And Jinyoung has night shifts; I get lonely working with a bunch of freshmen at seven in the morning, okay?”

 

Truth be told, Hanbin isn’t _that_ awful to hang around for four hours plus. In fact, he’s actually very conversational -- knowledgeable, too, but whenever his posse of _other_ freshmen swing around the Starbucks, things derail pretty fucking fast. There’s the one Donghyuk kid who’s always shouting across the cafe just to ask Hanbin pointless questions, and that one really tall kid, Junhoe, spends at least thirty minutes at the counter discussing video games with Hanbin.

 

Hanbin is...easily distracted? And not just by his friends -- he has two boyfriends -- it’s a polyamory, as he so often stresses -- and he ends up abandoning his post whenever they show. Jinhwan is very pleasant to talk to, he’s got his head straight on his shoulders, but _Jiwon_ is just -- _ugh_ . Anyways, it gets kind of gross whenever Namjoon is forced to suffer through weird PDA’s half an hour before his shift ends, and oh _god_ , do not even _mention_ the copious amounts of flirting. Jiwon’s mouth is -- nope. Nope. Gross. Very gross.

 

Also, Hanbin is like, nineteen, and Namjoon is twenty two. Even though the age gap is minor, Namjoon still gets the sense that Hanbin prefers being around others his age (especially when that one Yunhyeong kid starts showing Hanbin memes on his phone).

 

Well, to that, Namjoon says to each his own.

 

“Okay, but now we’re never going to go out for late night movies and stuff. We’re never going to see each other again. Ever,” Hoseok is now melting into his chair, an (unimpressive) attempt to sap some pity out of Namjoon.

 

“Hoseok, we live in the same apartment,” Namjoon informs flatly. “And it’s not like I work every night. I still have weekends off, and the same weekdays as before.”

 

“Never again,” Hoseok ignores him, throwing a forearm over his eyes.

 

Namjoon digs his teeth into his lower lip. “If it kills you that much, I’ll think about switching back my classes next semester,” he says, his commitment audibly half-hearted.

 

Hoseok brightens with spectacular enthusiasm. “ _Ha_! Eleven a.m. nights out with Namjoon are still alive!” he beams, triumphant.

 

Namjoon glowers; the things he does for Hoseok. “I said I’d _think_ about it,” he stresses, but he’s pretty sure all Hoseok is hearing is “switching back next semester.”

 

“I’ll buy movie tickets for this weekend. Um, Marvel movies sound okay?” Hoseok whistles, already on his phone and scrolling.

 

But of course, Namjoon is too nice a guy to deny Hoseok of anything, “Yeah, sure,” he sighs flippantly, doing his best to drown out Hoseok’s cheers with T.O.P blasting in his earbuds.

 

\--

 

Namjoon is used to normal things taking place in his normal life.

 

So yeah, it was kind of an out-of-body experience during his first shift on Friday night, when not-normal things happened.

 

“Hey, Namjoon,” Jinyoung calls when Namjoon elbows the door open. It’s four-fifty, ten minutes before his shift actually starts, but no one was ever killed for being early. And anyways, Jinyoung only works half-way into Namjoon’s shift before he’s done for the day; nothing wrong with dropping in to give a premature ‘hello.’

 

“Hey,” Namjoon greets back, fumbling with his keys as he slips behind the counter.

 

Jinyoung’s working on what must be an iced tea spritzer, body turned toward the back counter. “You’re early. You need something?” he observes, skillfully popping a lid and straw onto the spritzer whilst maintaining eye contact with Namjoon.

 

Namjoon shrugs, nonchalant. “Dunno. Wanted to make a good first impression?”

 

Jinyoung snorts, “Not a whole lot of people to impress.” He hands off the spritzer, calling out a loud _Chanyeol, tropical tea spritzer_ , and if Namjoon squints at the handwriting on the side -- huh, it actually spells out _Chanyolo_. Chanyeol flips Jinyoung off as he swipes the cup, and all Jinyoung does is make his best impression of the Queen of England.

 

“Oh, speaking of which, there are a couple of guys you should probably meet. Be back in a second,” Jinyoung hums, whirling on heel before heading off into the back.

 

Namjoon grunts in acknowledgement, tying his apron. Jinyoung is back in seconds, two other, unrecognizable guys tailing his right.

 

“Namjoon, this is Jisoo, that’s Mingyu. They’ll handle the drive-thru with the next people coming in for shift; we have the counter. Mingyu will be spending the same night shift here with you, by the way,” Jinyoung points to the respective baristas. Namjoon’s smiles, but he can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment, because they both look like they’re...freshman.

 

“Hi,” Namjoon greets anyways, because he’s not that much of a dick, and he shakes both of their hands. “Name’s Namjoon. Nice to meet you.”

 

“Cool. Nice to meet you, too. Josh is preferred over Jisoo,” Jisoo, or Josh, nods after their handshake. He seems nice, seems friendly -- but then again, so did Hanbin, and look where _he_ had Namjoon.

 

Namjoon releases his hand, turning to Mingyu, and _woah_ , the kid’s canine’s look sharp enough to belong to a shark. “Nice to meet you; looking forward to working with you,” Mingyu says, and Namjoon will agree as long as he doesn’t have any insufferable freshman buddies to trash the Starbucks.

 

And then they split -- Namjoon grinding out frappuccinos, espressos, mochas, dishing out some pastries. The flow of customers is a lot different than in the morning, but it isn’t something he can't handle. In fact, it’s a welcome change, considering the fact that Namjoon rarely sees change in his life at all.

 

Jinyoung turns out to work a lot faster than Hanbin, and possesses a noticeably greater amount of focus Namjoon is grateful that it’s him at the counter, and not Josh, or Mingyu, even if they do seem like semi-responsible kids (at least, more responsible than Hanbin). Jinyoung doesn't talk very much, but when he does, it's not as rigid as it was with Hanbin.

 

Josh and Mingyu keep to their own, or really, to one another. From the looks of it, they seem to know each other pretty well, but all Namjoon catches of their non-stop banter is some _Oh, yeah, I did hear about that_ ’s and _No way, that’s not possible_ ’s.

 

So basically, that entails the whole of the first hour into Namjoon’s first shift. Completely normal, nothing out of the ordinary.

 

Until, metaphorically, Jesus show up.

 

Namjoon’s slipping three mochas into a take-out carrier, sliding them off the counter and calling a name, when he hears the distinct sound of a motorcycle pulling in. And it definitely isn’t the first bike to show up, but this one’s...louder. And also...alone?

 

“Bathroom break. Call Josh if you need anything,” Jinyoung is suddenly saying, and he disappears to the back before Namjoon can even say okay.

 

But Namjoon’s already kind of busy staring at the guy clad in one hundred percent black parking right outside on his also one hundred percent black motorcycle. The only color (aside from the pigments of his skin) on him is his hair, but even then, he’s not sure if it counts as color, because it’s bleach blonde. He isn’t the first biker Namjoon’s seen, but there’s something...different, about this one.

 

Namjoon glances around the interior of the Starbucks. The store isn’t cheap, and it isn’t like they’re in some back alleyway (Namjoon might be a college student, but he isn’t _that_ desperate when it comes to finding a job), so he’s not really sure what warrants this guy’s attendance here. He looks more than a little shady, but Namjoon shouldn’t judge.

 

Motorbiker in black swings his legs off the bike in one gallant movement, and it almost looks like he’s reenacting some kind of movie shot, when he takes one step and -- collapses.

 

“Holy shit,” Namjoon says aloud, blinking rapidly. He looks to see if anyone else has witnessed Motorbiker in black’s tragedy, but he’s the lone onlooker amongst. He glances over his shoulder, searching for Jinyoung (because it isn’t like Namjoon can just _leave_ with no one at the counter), but of course, Namjoon’s still alone. Namjoon looks back outside, to the guy still lying on the ground, and he feels something...click.

 

Namjoon decides he’s not going to wait all of probably two minutes for Jinyoung to haul his ass back to the counter, and he’s not going to waste Josh’s time asking him to fill in for the counter. There’s no line, anyways, and it’s not like it’ll take an hour getting this guy back on his feet (Namjoon doesn’t work out, but he isn’t _that_ weak). So Namjoon ducks out from the counter, double-checks that there’s no line or oncoming line, and darts his way outside.

 

The air is, not like he expected it to be warm, but he’s not wearing a jacket and it’s six ten. Ish. Six fifteen? He beelines it to Motorbiker in black, and once he’s at his side, bends over to ask if he’s alright when his brain has the gall to notice that this guy is. Fucking. _Hot_.

 

Like, movie star quality hot. The contours of his face are well defined, every curve and edge coming together to make a masterpiece. The line of his lips are colored a healthy pink, his skin is sunkissed, tan (like Namjoon!), and his eyes are shut, like he’s posing for a modelling shoot, lashes just barely fluttering. And he’s got _piercings_ ; two on the shell of his ear and one below his lower lip, near the left corner of his mouth.

 

Also, his hair is white, not blonde. Or is it platinum blonde? Either way, it’s definitely not the same as Namjoon’s own bleach blonde.

 

But then reality knees Namjoon in the gut, and he remembers that it’s probably sixty-something degrees and falling outside, and this guy is still lying on the ground, possibly out cold.

 

“Hey, uh, are you okay?” Namjoon swallows, tentative. There’s no response, and no, Namjoon doesn’t think he’s _dead_ , but it wouldn’t hurt to check. He kneels down, two fingers reaching for his pulse point on the guy’s throat, and he’s just about to make contact when -- _fuck_ , the guy’s eyes fly right open, and Namjoon stops dead.

 

Typically, you’d be freaked out because you’d realize that you’re within touching distance of someone who looks like they could kill ten people ten different ways. But this is an atypical situation (for Namjoon, anyways), and Namjoon finds that the reason his mouth is drying out is simply because this guy, Motorbiker in black, and also movie-star-look-alike, is staring Namjoon dead in the eye.

 

It’s like some kind of movie moment, Namjoon swears, when they lock gazes. It sounds ridiculous and yeah, it’s really cliche, but it’s the only way he can describe it -- weird fireworks going off in the background and in his head when this guy’s chocolate brown eyes lock right onto Namjoon. It’s -- it’s some inexplicable, indescribable chemistry that Namjoon’s only seen in movies.

 

Namjoon holds his breath.

 

And then Motorbiker in black is smiling up at Namjoon ( _shit_ \-- his fucking _teeth_ look brighter than Namjoon’s goddamn future), and is also talking to him. “I’m good. Thanks for asking, princess.”

 

Namjoon registers that his voice is husky, deep, matches his face almost too perfectly, and then he registers that he also just called Namjoon a princess.

 

“Sorry, what?” Namjoon asks lamely, and _fuck_ \-- totally not what people in movies say.

 

Motorbiker in black sits upright, as if Namjoon isn’t hovering right over him, and nearly knocks into his forehead. “I said, I’m a-okay. Thanks for asking, princess,” he chirps in the exact same tone.

 

Namjoon splutters -- who the hell does this guy think he is? Okay, maybe he’s a gang leader, the leather jacket and piercings suggest a similar title, and he’s got a _bike_ , but _hey_ \-- Namjoon isn’t a _princess_ , even if some really hot guy in a leather jacket says so.

 

“Are you sure?” Namjoon asks, feeling suddenly put off balance. But in Namjoon’s defense, this guy’s _eyebrows_ are making him feel inadequate.

 

Motorbiker in black doesn’t seem to care about his inability to act cool. “Sure. You’re here; I’m perfectly healthy now.”

 

 _What is_ that _supposed to mean_ , Namjoon thinks, but then he stops thinking because Motorbiker in black is starting to stand. Namjoon (stupid. Really stupid) loops an arm around his to help him up and -- woah, uh -- okay, those are. Biceps. Really, really, toned and thick and muscled biceps, and Namjoon can feel them through his leather jacket. Namjoon’s felt a couple muscles before (not in _that_ way), but this guy feels fucking -- _ripped_.

 

“Thanks, princess. You’re a lifesaver,” the guy says, and -- this -- _guy_ , calling him a _princess_ \-- but Namjoon lets it slide because -- _because._ That’s why. The guy doesn’t make a single move to pull away from Namjoon when he gets to his feet, but Namjoon just kind of lets his arm fall back to his side, even when his brain screams at him to put his hands right back where they were two seconds ago, because _damn_ \-- _biceps_.

 

“No problem,” Namjoon says back, voice going a little shrill. With both of them standing, Namjoon realizes he’s...actually taller? Than this guy? Which is sort of surprising, because Namjoon expected him to be six foot two, or something, with the whole bike and...punk look.

 

Motorbiker in black runs his hand through his platinum blonde hair, combing through his bangs and biting at his piercing, and Namjoon swallows, because that’s. _Rude_. And then he pulls his wallet out; black in color, like everything else on the guy.

 

“I’d buy something for you, but it looks like I’m gonna have to buy _from_ you,” Motorbiker in black says, looking Namjoon up and down, and for a split second Namjoon actually thinks he’s checking him out, when he realizes -- no, _stupid_ , he’s just looking at his Starbucks apron. Probably.

 

Namjoon shakes himself. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he nods, and he’s about to ask what he wants, but the guy’s already headed for the door. Namjoon blinks, and it takes a second for him to realize the guy’s holding the door open as Namjoon does nothing but stand in place, awkward and feeling kind of stricken. He forces his feet to move, chin tucked; it’s probably just the change in temperature.

 

Namjoon slides behind the counter, and finds that Jinyoung is still missing in action, either in the back or still in the bathroom. Motorbiker in black leans onto the counter, thumbing through his wallet, whistling softly.

 

“What’d you want?” Namjoon taps a finger over the metal of the register, and no, it’s definitely not because he’s nervous.

 

Motorbiker in black plucks out a few dollars, handing it over to Namjoon with a flick of his wrist. “Mm, how about a venti peppermint mocha? Oh, and with extra chocolate chips, extra chocolate sauce, and triple whip. Please,” he orders, leaning a little closer, smiling warm.

 

Namjoon nods, scribbling down the order in black sharpie. It isn’t the weirdest order he’s heard, not by a mile, but he kind of expected him to order a smoothie, or something less sugary. He seems like someone who eats strictly fruit and greens (that’s what people with nice biceps eat, right?).

 

When he reaches the line for the name, he hesitates. He peers up at Motorbiker in black, and lo-and-behold, he’s still looking straight at Namjoon, smile still set to full brightness. Namjoon has to gnaw on his tongue to keep himself from looking away, because _hey_ \-- he’s _hot_.

 

“What name do you want that under?” Namjoon gnaws on the inside of his lip, doing his best to maintain eye contact.

 

Motorbiker in black drums his fingers over the counter once, before answering, “Jackson. Call me Jackson.”

 

Namjoon blinks.

 

“Only if you stop calling me princess,” Namjoon says back, feeling brave.

 

Jackson’s face doesn’t give way to any reaction, but if Namjoon looks in his eyes, there’s some kind of flicker that flares up as the words leave Namjoon’s mouth. If Namjoon didn’t know any better, it almost looks like...amusement

 

And then Jackson breaks into a smile that could honestly kill the sun, laughing. “You sure? I can’t be your knight in shining armor, then.”

 

And -- _fuck_ \-- Namjoon almost chokes; he’s _never_ been flirted with like this. Ever. He’s really only seen Hanbin be victimized by Jiwon’s incessant lewdness and subjected to Jinhwan’s suave compliments, but that’s always been from afar. This is -- this is _different_. And also, this guy -- Jackson, has platinum blonde hair and three piercings.

 

Namjoon inhales to respond, but Jackson beats him to the punch. “I’m kidding. But hey, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?” he says, shoulders still shaking with the aftershocks of his laughter.

 

Namjoon blinks. He barely knows this guy -- whose jawline could slice through butter -- of course  Namjoon has the obligation to give out personal information. That also just so happens to be written out on his nametag.

 

“Namjoon,” Namjoon answers, tapping his nametag. He’s decided that Jackson can’t be that bad of a person, despite multiple piercings and an all-black get up -- Namjoon won’t judge.

 

“Namjoon,” Jackson echoes, tongue pressing against the corner of his mouth. “Sweet name. Fit for a princess.”

 

Namjoon rests the tip of the sharpie against the cup, because -- _seriously_?

 

Jackson throws his head back, laughing again, and Namjoon feels his skin warm. “Okay, okay, for real, for real. I’ll call you Namjoon, just -- just don’t look at me like that anymore.”

 

Namjoon touches a hand to his face, but it feels...normal?

 

“Like what?” Namjoon frowns.

 

Jackson squints, and suddenly he’s leaning in even closer, right up in Namjoon’s face, hands on the counter as he searches Namjoon’s eyes. And Namjoon isn’t unused to having his personal space being invaded, he’s known Hoseok for long enough, but Jackson isn’t Hoseok, and Jackson’s also looking him right in the eye.

 

“Nah, nevermind, it’s whatever,” Jackson says with casual dismissal, rolling the piercing beneath his lip under his canine, and -- well. If Namjoon’s ever seen something hot in his life.

 

“So do we have a deal?” Namjoon says after a brief pause,.

 

Jackson thrusts a hand out immediately, and Namjoon half-expects the force of the movement to knock him back into the coffee grinders. Except, Jackson stops right in front of Namjoon’s chest, and somehow, Namjoon doesn’t even flinch. There’s a part of Namjoon that just -- trusts Jackson, even if all they’ve exchanged are their names a few glances (sounds stupid, but it’s _true_ ).

 

“Absolutely. Deal,” Jackson sing songs. “It’s nice to meet you, Namjoon. I’m Jackson.”

 

Namjoon works his hand over Jackson’s, after thumbing the sharpie over to the hand holding his cup. Not like Jackson would care to get his leather jacket all marked up with sharpie, even if it’s also...black.

 

“Nice meeting you, too,” Namjoon returns Jackson’s grin, once their hands are tight around one another’s.

 

Jackson gives Namjoon’s hand a firm squeeze, smile widening just the slightest bit, and they make eye contact again as Jackson shakes their hands. And then Jackson loosens his grip, and Namjoon’s hand slips away, quickly scrawling in Jackson’s name onto his cup. Funny; Jackson’s hands were all rough, calloused -- like he handled sandbags, or something.

 

Typically, this is the part where customers turn and make a run for a chair, maybe leave a tip or give Namjoon a quick ‘thank you.’ But hey! Fuck continuity, is what Jackson seemed to have to say about Namjoon’s routine, as he continues to stand in the exact same spot.

 

“I’ve never seen you around here before. You new?” Jackson asks with visible interest, as swings one leg behind the other. He doesn’t budge from his position against the counter, actually propping himself up with his forearms rested across the surface. Namjoon absently wonders how someone can be so casual with strangers, but maybe -- maybe Jackson’s just the type of person that’s never a stranger to anyone.

 

Namjoon turns away, prepping the coffee grinds. “Nah,” he responds over his shoulder. “I just switched shifts. I used to work morning hours.”

 

“Cool, cool. Why’d you change? Don’t like morning coffee?” Jackson says, and Namjoon sees him still leaning against the counter out of the corner of his eye, even looking at Namjoon still.

 

There are multiple reasons why morning shift was shitty -- a majority of that list is taken up by Hanbin’s buddies making his work life miserable, the fact that customers in the morning will nearly _die_ if you don’t get the amount of cream _exactly_ right, and that Namjoon pretty much had two hours between work and classes. Yeah kind of not the soothing morning experiences Namjoon needs to live.

 

“It’s not that. It’s just -- you would not believe how shitty people in the morning can be,” Namjoon shakes his head, because that’s a pretty reasonable answer.

 

Jackson laughs as Namjoon mixes in the peppermint syrup in the mocha. “Mornings are usually shitty in general,” Jackson says with a smirk, and Namjoon smiles, opens his mouth to agree, but he’s interrupted by footsteps.

 

“Okay, I’m back, just needed to -- oh, hey, Jackson,” Jinyoung starts, standing in place as he cleaning his glasses with the sleeve of his apron.

 

“S’up, Jinyoung,” Jackson says, flaunting a peace-sign in Jinyoung’s direction.

 

From this quick exchange, Namjoon gleans that Jinyoung knows Jackson, and Jackson knows Jinyoung.Or, maybe that was already obvious -- Jinyoung _has_ been taking evening shifts for a year now, and Jackson has sort of insinuated that he himself buys from here a lot.

 

Jinyoung, perceptive as always, looks at Namjoon, then to Jackson. “You meet Namjoon?”

 

Jackson nods. “Yep. Seems like a good guy,” he says, as if Namjoon isn’t right there, making his peppermint mocha plus extra chocolate and whipped cream.

 

Namjoon snorts, but doesn’t get anything in when Jinyoung snaps at Jackson. “Move your ass, Jackson, you’re holding up the line,” he says, sharp, but there’s a certain fondness to his tone, and he’s smiling. Jackson all but takes one step to the side, making way for the next in line.

 

And -- huh. He still hasn’t left.

 

“So, you better at making coffee than Jinyoung?” Jackson says, and it’s directed right at Namjoon.

 

Namjoon hesitates as he swirls the whip across the top of the mocha, the first round of chocolate syrup already added. He’s definitely one of the world’s greatest disasters in the kitchen, but he’s... _okay_ when it comes to coffee. But that’s only because he’s been doing it since his dad let him use his coffee-making set when he was six; no one ever taught him how to cook anything -- _ever_.

 

He scoops a sizeable portion of chocolate chips into a cup, and does his best to arrange them in a sort of pleasing-to-the-eye fashion, and he drizzles a cross hatch pattern of chocolate syrup three times over. Namjoon looks it all over once it’s finished, and, admittedly, it’s...probably more than what Jackson wanted, but at least it kind of looks nice?

 

“You can taste for yourself,” Namjoon says, deciding not to make any claims, and he slides Jackson his mocha across the take-out counter. In Namjoon’s opinion, Jinyoung makes stuff better, but Namjoon makes stuff faster. But, as aforementioned, Namjoon is the furthest thing from being skilled in the kitchen, so Namjoon isn’t hissy over anything.

Jackson takes up the mocha in one hand, downing a single sip like he’s taking shots. When he lowers the cup, there’s a strip of cream lining the space beneath his nose. Namjoon folds his arms, anticipating some over the top reaction, and -- wait a second, why is Namjoon’s heart beating so fast, it’s just coffee --

 

“Shit, there’s actually chocolate in here, instant first place!” Jackson declares loudly, licking the cream right off of his lip.

 

“You’re on a fucking diet, _you’re_ the one that told me to lay off on the chocolate,” Jinyoung sighs from the counter, before training his face with a motherly smile as he turns back to his customer.

 

Jackson curls his lip. “I meant that because I was on a diet, I needed _extra_ chocolate. Friday mochas are my saving-grace of the week!” he protests, clearly exasperated.

 

This doesn’t seem to convince Jinyoung. “That’s not how dieting works, and I don’t even diet,” he says with a roll his eyes, turning away from the register to begin dispensing coffee grinds.

 

“Whatever, hardass,” Jackson mutters, bangs beginning to fall out of place, and he flicks them back. He takes a couple of sips of the mocha, and as he raises his head, he looks back up and -- ah, makes eye contact with Namjoon again.

“It’s seriously good, though. Thanks,” Jackson says with a grin, swiping his tongue over his lower lip.

 

Namjoon feels himself smile a little, because hey, not like Namjoon gets complimented by hot bikers everyday. Or, really, not like Namjoon gets complimented much at all.

 

“No problem,” Namjoon exhales.

 

He expects Jackson to turn and claim a table, or take his leave on his bike, but he stays. Standing. Right there.

 

“So how long is your shift?” Jackson is inquiring, not a step further from where he was before.

 

“Uh -- ” Namjoon starts, about to let him know it’s until twelve-ish, but --

 

“Jackson, he’s working,” Jinyoung cuts in informatively, and -- oh, yeah. Work. Namjoon should be doing that. There are a couple of kids at the counter, and Jinyoung’s occupied with two frappuccinos. Namjoon feels his ears burn as he nods, meek; usually, it’s Namjoon doing the reprimanding (toward Hanbin, but he’s not here anymore), and not the other way around.

 

Jackson’s expression falls to a pout, “Is it a crime to be conversational? Calm your ass, Jinyoung, I’m not going to get him fired, or anything,” but then his gaze flickers to Namjoon’s. There’s some kind of worry in his eyes, and his voice takes a dive lower. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

 

Namjoon is about to tell him no, it’s alright, but the words are lodged in his throat, because -- holy -- _shit_ . Those _eyes_ . It’s like Jackson’s turned on a switch; the air of toughness replaced with something almost... _innocent_ . A second ago, if Namjoon had to describe him in a phrase, it’d be really hot and really cool, but now, he’d be more inclined to say really hot, really cool, and really fucking adorable. Namjoon didn’t think it was possible for someone in black leather to look so unadulteratedly _cute._

 

“No, no,” Namjoon shakes his head, because there’s no way he’s going to be able to reject him in his kicked-puppy state. “I can multitask,” he adds, which is kind of a lie, but this is _coffee_ , not _cooking_.

 

Jackson’s face lights up like a Christmas tree -- an action almost identical to how Hoseok’s eyes turn into miniature stars when Namjoon buys him ice cream -- and now Namjoon is having heart palpitations.

 

“Ha! Someone who appreciates my company. You should take lessons from Namjoon, Jinyoung,” Jackson snarks at Jinyoung, taking another sip from his mocha as if to celebrate.

 

Namjoon laughs, and the force of it actually catches him off guard. But really -- there’s some sunshiny aura Jackson’s exuding, despite the layers of black material, that is literally warming Namjoon’s heart. And it’s not as if Namjoon’s some stone-cold stiff; he’s just...not used to being so upbeat when it’s late. Maybe it’s just that Namjoon’s just susceptible to inadvertent(?) flirting and doe eyes.

 

Namjoon returns to the register, dialing in another order, and Jackson is right there, peppermint mocha in hand (Namjoon realizes he didn’t even blow on the mocha; how the hell is his tongue not on fire?).

 

“So, you gonna tell me how long your shift is?” Jackson asks eagerly, as Namjoon scribbles down the name Dino (it’s not as weird as some of the other dumb shit kids pull. Namjoon has served multiple Gandalf the Grey’s and a few other nondescript names; all of which probably come from the minds of two year olds).

 

Namjoon smirks, ignoring Jinyoung’s complaints in the background. Jackson seems like a nice guy.

 

“I’m here all night,” Namjoon replies crisply, and Jackson stays glued to the counter.

 

\--

 

When Jackson leaves, Namjoon notices just how loud it’d been.

 

It’s after Jackson does a salute at the door, pushing it open and saying his farewell, “Later, Namjoon! Thanks for the coffee!” that everything simmers down, the jazz music playing on loop becoming audible once more.

 

As Namjoon’s working on an iced coffee, he actually turns his head a few times to glance in the direction where Jackson stood. Except there’s nothing there (duh), and Namjoon quickly turns his eyes back to his work at hand. Namjoon would never say this under normal circumstances, but he’s starting to feel...lonely, without the company of someone talkative. Which is weird, because Namjoon _never_ craves that kind of comfort at work, even when he’s surrounded by people talking amongst themselves.

 

And then Namjoon realizes he barely know anything about Jackson.

 

After the whole hour Jackson was semi-soliciting on the other side of the counter, Namjoon doesn’t know his age, his last name, his job, or if he even goes to college. Namjoon _does_ know that Jackson likes stuff organic (which kind of shocked him, because Starbucks is pretty much the furthest thing from organic), he likes the color black, a fact established pretty early on, and that he has a motorcycle. A pretty pathetic pool of information, now that Namjoon thinks about it.

 

So of course, after five minutes void of any conversation with anyone, Namjoon _has_ to ask Jinyoung about Jackson. Clearly, he knows more about Jackson than Namjoon.

 

“Who is Jackson?” Namjoon finally asks, as Jinyoung handles an espresso, and Namjoon can’t help but think of Jackson when he sees him sprinkling chocolate chips over the cream.

 

Jinyoung sighs, fiddling with the frame of his glasses as he slides the cup across the take-out counter, calling a name (another initialization; OSH?). “He’s a Friday regular here. One of them, anyways. Why do you ask?” Jinyoung leans back against the counter, no one present to make an order.

 

“Uh, no reason.” Namjoon shrugs. There really isn’t any reason, beyond the fact that Namjoon just wants to get to know Jackson better. As in, beyond numbers and ‘yes’s and ‘no’s.

 

Jinyoung crosses one leg over the other, and suddenly it’s like he’s -- nervous?

 

“I’m not gonna lie, Jackson’s...kind of not who he seems to be,” Jinyoung says in a low voice,  scratching at the back of his neck with just the barest hint of wariness.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Namjoon frowns, fighting to keep the ridicule out of his voice.  There are two possible meanings to Jinyoung’s words: one, he could be referring to the fact that Jackson is the spitting image of what a gang member would look like, but he’s actually not one, or two, he could be talking about how behind Jackson’s sweet talk there’s something...less sweet?

 

Jinyoung’s expression goes a little dark, but that could just be the shadow from his glasses. “Jackson’s a part of a gang,” he says without much emotion in his voice.

 

And, alright, _okay_ \-- it’s not something that Namjoon didn’t expect, but Jinyoung makes it sound like it’s...terrible. Which, Namjoon thinks isn’t? Jackson hadn’t intimated Namjoon once, even with the whole bad boy get up and roughed up voice. In fact, Namjoon had felt...comfortable.

 

Namjoon decides it’s probably best to diffuse Jinyoung’s worry. “It’s not like he’s gonna kill me, Jinyoung. All I did was give him some coffee,” he laughs with a light smile.

 

Jinyoung shrugs. “Just be careful the next time you see him.”

 

Next time, Namjoon thinks. So he’s for sure going to see Jackson again? Definitely not something Namjoon’s gonna complain about.

 

\--

 

Jinyoung’s shift ends at eight, a little past an hour after Jackson’s leave of absence. Josh leaves, too, following Jinyoung out the door as he waves at Mingyu’s “ _Night_.”

 

It’s late, so the flow of things dies down. It’s usually a blessing, but now, with the lack of a certain loud mouth and Jinyoung, Namjoon feels more bored than fortunate.

 

He doesn’t bother Mingyu in the back, who seems to have more to do than him, and a guy named Wooyoung (he’s twenty seven, _not_ a freshman for once) fills in for Jinyoung and Josh. He’s way more than just efficient, capable of working much faster than both Jinyoung and Namjoon, and he ends up spending more time in back with Mingyu than out front.

 

Namjoon expects the night to play out to the same tune for the rest of his shift, but again, some people just have it out for Namjoon’s usual cycle of doing things.

 

He’s actually starting to feel kind of drowsy, and Namjoon is grateful that Hobi’s awake still to text him company.

 

_From ; Hobi ; 10:25_

_heey the movie i picked got a 89% :0_

 

_From ; Hobi ; 10:25_

_already bought tickets for 8 pm tomorrow_

 

Namjoon weakly enters in his reply, about to hit send, when the sound of a motorcycle pulling in up front interrupts his virtual conversation.

 

Namjoon knows by now it’s not Jackson -- there’s been a grand total of like, thirty other motorcyclists that have pulled in and bought coffee (or pastries, or iced tea, or whatever), all sporting expensive looking jackets (none of which are made of black leather, like Jackson’s. Guess Jackson’s gang doesn’t hang around too often?) and sometimes tattoos or piercings. Namjoon also knows by now that none of them are going to mug him, despite Jinyoung’s insinuation that someone like Jackson would. In fact, every biker treats Namjoon the exact same way regular customers do; so far, Jackson’s the only exception

 

The general pattern for each motorbiker is that they come in, all loud and hooting with their other friends (gang members?), and they order some kind of frappuccino or espresso, and they don’t say anything to Namjoon other than their order and sometimes a thank you. By now, Namjoon’s discerned that this place must be a hangout for gangs. The kids are always chatty and they’re never alone, and even though they’re dressed to kill, none of the other customers seem to care about their obnoxious presence.

 

The guy currently pulling up right now, though, is alone, and thus, quiet.

 

Namjoon stuffs his phone into his pocket, feeling sort of guilty for leaving Hoseok hanging, and he steps over to the counter.

 

From here, Namjoon watches silent-motorbiker unmount his bike. He does it slow, like he’s not in a hurry, and pulls off his helmet and --

 

“Holy shit,” Namjoon says again, unnecessarily loud, and his voice rebounds against the glass of the store. None of the customers seem to notice (that, or they just don’t care, bless them), but Namjoon flushes with embarrassment anyways.

 

Okay, but _listen_ \-- this motorbiker has _mint green_ hair. And he makes it work, too. All the other bikers Namjoon’s seen pass by look pretty juvenile with their red locks or dirty blonde bangs, but Namjoon doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone with a shade this unnatural look this -- _natural_.

 

Mint haired motorbiker nudges the door open and steps inside, helmet hung back on his bike. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, like he’s trying to let people know he’s not interested in anything they’d have to say, even if it was an offer of a million bucks. It’s like an intimidation tactic; Namjoon’s seen Jinyoung pissed off enough to recognize the gesture.

 

Namjoon does his best not to stare, to look occupied, but it’s really difficult, with the way this guy’s mere presence seems to demand his full attention. And he hasn’t said a single word.

 

When Namjoon finally catches the guy’s eye, he’s approximately five steps from the counter, and what the heck, it’s happening again.

 

The second that Mint-haired motorbiker looks right at him, there’s a weird connection, like two magnets lining up together. Yeah, it’s sounds about one hundred and three percent fake, but when the guy stares full on at him, it’s almost impossible to not notice how the whole situation feels. It feels -- electric? Like, Namjoon gets the feeling this moment in time is important. Like he’s going to remember it.

 

However hard Namjoon tries, he can't not stare at Mint haired motorbiker. Not even when he stops at the counter, weight shifted to his right leg, looking right back at Namjoon.

 

When a good two seconds have passed, Namjoon bites on his tongue, because he's been staring at this guy for way too long.

 

“Hi, what can I get you for the night?” Namjoon smiles, surprised with how welcoming he sounds despite how tired he feels.

 

Mint haired motorbiker doesn't say anything for a second, and Namjoon realizes it's because he's...scanning his face. It's the first time someone's payed any mind to him beyond an order placement since Jackson was here, talking his mouth off at Namjoon. Namjoon swallows, debating whether or not he should repeat himself, but something tells him he's heard Namjoon loud and clear.

 

And apparently, he did, because he's tilting his head to the side and saying, “Citrus green tea frappuccino. Tall,” without a trace of a single emotion in his voice. It’s the kind of tone people use when they want to get straight to the point.

 

Namjoon blinks. A green beverage. For a someone with green hair. Hilarious.

 

With great strength, Namjoon manages to not laugh at the coincidence of the whole thing, and pulls a cup out with a sharpie in his free hand.

 

“D’you want anything else with that?” Namjoon asks, jotting his order onto the cup.

 

Mint-haired motorbiker is quiet again, and even if his face doesn’t contort in any way, Namjoon can sort of tell by his eyes that he’s mulling over the idea of getting food (how? Science. That’s how).

 

“No,” the guy resolves after a few long, long seconds.

 

Namjoon nods -- a part of him knew he’d say no, but hey, never hurts to ask -- and all that’s left is --

 

“Name?” Namjoon looks up at the guy, smiling soft.

 

Mint-haired motorbiker pauses, again. Namjoon knows it’s ten thirty, but is this guy really that tired? Maybe he is; it’s hard to tell.

 

“Suga,” the guy -- Suga -- says.

 

Namjoon feels like he’s heard the name -- ‘shoo-gah?’ -- like he’s supposed to know it. But it’s like a wave of deja vu is wedged between him and the ability to properly recall any memory of the name, and so he decides just to ask how to spell it.

 

“Do you mind if I ask how you spell that?” Namjoon asks, carefully. It feels like if he asks the wrong question Suga is either going to judge the shit out of him or walk right out. Maybe both.

 

There’s something akin to surprise that flits over Suga’s face, but it’s gone faster than it comes. “Like sugar, without the ‘r’.”

 

Namjoon scribbles down his name -- somehow, it’s starting to look even more familiar looking at it written down -- and takes the money that Suga passes him. “Alright, I’ll have it ready in just a second,” he says, sure to give one last smile.

 

“Thanks,” Suga nods, and he pulls his own phone out of his pocket. He makes his way over to the takeout counter, hunched over his screen as he awaits his order.

 

Namjoon doesn’t waste a single second prepping and making his frappuccino.

 

As he fills the cup, the liquid just barely kissing the lip, swirling cream over the top, he steals a glance in Suga’s direction. Suga’s still scrolling his phone, but he’s showing no outward interest in anything his phone has to offer. He’s dead silent; a startling contrast to the other guys that have passed through. Even Jackson; it’s like he’s his opposite.

 

Namjoon finishes of the beverage with the lemon essence, ensuring it looks at least somewhat neat, and strides over to the counter after popping the lid on.

 

“Tall citrus green tea frap,” Namjoon pushes the beverage closer to Suga. Suga looks up from his phone, and he hides it away back into his jacket pocket. His fingers reach out for the cup, and they just barely brush over the skin of Namjoon’s knuckles. In the single second that it happens, Namjoon feels how the skin is coarse and worn, as if he does much of his work with his hands.

 

Suga’s eyes flicker over their hands for just a beat, and then he pulls the drink away. He sticks a straw in, takes one sip, and there’s a light in his eyes that shines with some sort of...warmth?

 

Suga says, “Thanks,” again, but this time he -- he --

 

He _smiles._

 

Namjoon feels the air suctioned out of him, because _holy fucking shit._

 

Maybe it’s because Suga seems like the last person on the planet to show any signs of happiness that Namjoon feels so starstruck, but it should most definitely be illegal for the curling of someone’s lips to be that fucking -- Namjoon doesn’t even know how to describe it. Attractive? Charming? Heart-attack inducing? God, the smile only last for about a sixth of a second (it’s barely more than just a small twitch of his lips), but _shit_ does it have Namjoon seeing the moon and stars.

 

“N-No problem,” Namjoon clears his throat, coughing once to cover up his inner turmoil, because _fuck_. “Have a nice night.”

 

Suga takes another sip, nods and turns, not saying anything else. He takes a seat at the nearest table, which happens to be right beside the window. He looks kind of wistful, phone back out and his drink in one hand.

 

Namjoon carries on with work as normal after that, and he’s going to admit, he’s kind of disappointed with himself for not trying to strike up a conversation with him. The way Suga’s fingers felt, and how he looked at Namjoon, his soft brown eyes, made it seem like he had a hell of a lot of things to talk about.

 

But that’s how it is, for the next twenty minutes or so. Suga’s seated at the same table, still on his phone, still sipping from his frappuccino.

 

There are only a couple of people coming in every few minutes, so it’s difficult not to notice Suga’s presence. He’s one of the only people that’s stayed in after they’ve taken their order, and Namjoon’s...curious.

 

So yeah, whenever Namjoon finishes up an order, he already knows that Suga is seated right by the window, leaned over his phone and draining his drink to the last drop. He hasn’t been staring, but he just -- he just knows.

 

After a while, though, Namjoon kind of does start to stare (because he’s curious). He’s just starting to inspect Suga’s jacket, trying to figure out how expensive it is, when someone passes right by Suga and unceremoniously, spills their fucking coffee all over his nice, (possibly) thousand dollar jacket.

 

“Shit,” Namjoon snatches a clean towel, abandoning his task of cleaning the syrup dispensers and making his way over to Suga.

 

Suga’s face is just as blank as it has been for the past half hour, but he’s finally looking away from his phone. The guy who passed him throws a handful of napkins in his face, before rushing right out the door, a feeble, excuse for an apology given just before he bolts.

 

Namjoon swallows down his heartbeat as Suga looks up, and he pauses when the space between them is barely a single strides-worth. If all Namjoon could see was Suga’s face, he wouldn’t even be able to tell that anything had happened to him; there’s literally no reaction coming from the guy.

 

“Uh -- ” Namjoon bites his lip, then closes the distance between them to wipe up the dripping coffee. Might as well try and salvage the jacket as best he can.

 

Namjoon places himself carefully to the side -- Suga’s legs are spread, like what the heck -- and cleans up the coffee spill as best he can. When he pulls away, the towel is stained with espresso and cream, and as he lifts the towel the brand -- Namjoon thinks he may have seen it passing through the mall out west-ish -- of the sweater is showing.

 

“Fuck, I’m sorry about that,” Namjoon apologizes, despite the fact that he has nothing to do with the spill, and he moves to clean up the small puddle of coffee on the floor. He glances up at the sadly ruined jacket, swallowing. “Um, how expensive is the jacket?”

 

Suga snorts, unzipping his jacket and peeling the left half from his chest (shit, the coffee soaked through to his shirt) and shrugs. “Olivine? Three thousand five hundred,” he says, as if all people have three thousand five hundred bucks to blow, and if Namjoon had been drinking anything he would have spat it across the floor, because -- _um_.

 

“ _Holy fuck_ \-- seriously?” Namjoon exclaims, throat dry. He can’t be wiping up the jacket of a _millionaire_ \-- there’s just -- _no way_ \--

 

“No. It’s more like, three thousand eight hundred,” Suga amends, cocking his head to the side, contemplative. He blinks down at Namjoon, expression still yielding no emotion. “If you’re worried about me having to pay for another one, it’s fine. I have extras.”

 

Namjoon frowns. “I’m more concerned over the possibility of you having second degree burns, but okay,” he mumbles, because sure, jackets are nice, but so is health and safety.

 

Suga glances down at his soaked attire, and there’s not so much as a flicker of worry in his eyes. “I’m fine,” he grunts, non-committal.

 

And, Namjoon isn’t about to ask Suga to lift his shirt up to confirm he’s okay, but Suga is already shucking his jacket off, flinging it across the table with surprising aggressiveness. Namjoon is about to tell him he’s pretty sure there are cameras here, but thankfully(?), Suga doesn’t strip his shirt off as well. It’s not a wife beater, not like Namjoon was expecting him to be wearing one, but it’s unfortunately very white, and the coffee stain is also very visible.  

 

“Am I allowed to ask how expensive your shirt is?” Namjoon asks, and that’s pretty much a joke, because it’s just a plain white tee. It couldn’t be more than, like, thirty bucks.

 

Suga actually gives Namjoon what seems to be an amused look, lips twitching once, almost like he wants to smile. “Ninety eight,” he clips, and alright, Namjoon was only about seventy bucks short.

 

Suga offers his hand to Namjoon, and Namjoon’s assumes he’s asking for the towel, maybe to wipe his shirt off, but when Namjoon meets him halfway, Suga pulls him up without any effort at all. Namjoon can’t help himself -- he checks to see if Suga has toned biceps, and -- yep, they’re there, peeking out from under his shirt sleeves. He’s slim; much slimmer than Jackson was, but he isn’t exactly twiggy.

 

“Sorry for bothering you,” Suga sighs, eyes cool as he stares Namjoon down. He gathers up his jacket in a bundle, and at least there isn’t any coffee dripping from it anymore as he hoists it into the crook of his arm.

 

“No, it’s fine,” Namjoon conciliates hurriedly. Namjoon may or may not be interested in talking with Suga, and he may or may not be curious about the abnormality of his presence in the coffee shop (abnormalities being that he’s lacking a pack of other bikers, he’s quiet, and he’s just...different. It’s a gut feeling. And he has mint green hair. That actually looks really fucking cool). “My shift’s pretty much done, anyways.” And it’s true; Namjoon checks the clock as he straightens his back.

 

Namjoon’s about to ask if Suga wants an extra shirt, because he’s pretty sure there are a few stashed away in the cupboards, but as he opens his mouth, a soft ringing fills the air. Namjoon blinks, realizing that it’s Suga’s phone.

 

Suga thumbs at his phone screen, and he tuts lowly, clearly peeved by something.

 

“What a shame,” Suga whistles, and suddenly he’s standing.

 

“Huh?” Namjoon blinks.

 

Suga stuffs his phone into his back pant pocket, and then he looks up at Namjoon. He shakes his head to flick his bangs out of his face, which actually accomplishes nothing because they still hang right over his eyes, and then he’s -- he’s fucking smiling again.

 

“Nothing,” Suga sighs, soft. “I have to run.”

 

 _Okay_ , Namjoon thinks, _That’s fine_. He’s admittedly disappointed, because he thought they were just about to get somewhere, but unfortunately, some conversations are just not meant to be.

 

“Oh,” Namjoon says, and hopes his shoulders aren’t sagging, but hey, he felt like they were just about to get somewhere. “Um, g’night, then,” he adds, offering a small smile as he stands.

 

Suga quints at Namjoon for just the barest moment, as if to study him. “Night,” he echoes.

 

And then Suga leaves Namjoon standing dumbly, towel still in hand. He cheers silently, because maybe Suga was interested in talking to him? But then he kind of sighs, because Suga’s gone now, and Namjoon doesn’t know if he was actually interested in him at all.

 

Wooyoung calls out to him, eventually, inquiring if he’s still awake, and Namjoon snaps out of his daze.

 

That...was a lot for one Friday night.

 

\--

 

It should be know that Namjoon has excellent taste in the category of friend choice; the friends he has are actually kind of nice. But it should also be known that Namjoon has terrible taste in whom he confides to.

 

“Two in one night? I didn’t think you had it in you, Joon,” Hoseok says with raised brows, and _god_ , he makes it sound like Namjoon is hopeless (which, is, admittedly, sort of true). Namjoon has half the mind to splash his iced coffee on him, but he’s not five.

 

“Don’t say it like that,” Namjoon mutters, rolling his eyes.

 

“But it’s true,” Hoseok sighs, folding his arms. “You’re never proactive when it comes to people.”

 

Namjoon scoffs; he’s not _anti-social_. He’s just...compliant to the energy at hand. “Literally all I did was talk and wipe some coffee up,” Namjoon says pointedly. Because people talk everyday. Maybe they don’t spill coffee on a daily basis, but still.

 

“Just admit it,” Hoseok pushes, his smirk all-too smug for Namjoon to handle. “You’re improving.”

 

“Improving my ass, what was I supposed to do? Let one guy lie on the ground when he possibly had passed out in freezing cold temperatures and the other soak up a hundred degree hot coffee?” Namjoon grunts, exasperated.

 

“Well, when you say it like that, it's like you've gone super hero overnight,” Hoseok shrugs without so much as batting an eyelash.

 

Namjoon tosses his hands in the air. “I came here to watch a bunch of marvel superheroes kick ass, not to get lectured on my social skills.”

 

Hoseok jabs a finger into his shoulder. “You being here means you signed up for two hours of talk, minimum. And last I checked -- ” Hoseok takes a glimpse at his own phone. “ -- We're only at the ten minute mark.”

 

Namjoon just groans, and it’s only when Hoseok snickers that he shoves him away.

 

\--

 

“Fuck,” Namjoon lets his forehead thunk against the surface of his recently cleaned desk, all polished and actually clear of sticky notes and eraser shavings.

 

He’s been staring at his notebook dead on for two hours _straight_ now, pages wrecked with scratched out lyrics and enough eraser smudges to smother a fully grown man. At this point, Namjoon might as well book a funeral date and buy a suit to rest in. His tombstone will read, ‘ _Here lies Kim Namjoon: died of writer’s block and terrible friends_ ,’ because that accurately describes his current situation (except, Namjoon’s probably gonna be cremated; it's cheaper).

 

Like a lot of people, Namjoon has relatively unrealistic dreams. In hindsight, though, not a whole lot of people are getting the urge to become a rapper-song-writer at the age of twenty two. And...Namjoon’s not a hundred percent certain if that’s a good or bad thing.

 

Namjoon considers his skill to be three things: well practiced, well maintained, and occasionally impressive (he _has_ to be all of those three things; you need that kind of skill to live in an industry where everything wants to a) fuck with everything you are and b) try to fuck you up in more ways than one).  And usually, Namjoon is good at keeping a nice, even pace for his writing; his inspiration runs like a fluid, so it grows and shrinks in a traceable pattern.

 

Except, now, of all times, Namjoon’s just come across his worst nightmare in the middle of a metaphorical dark alley -- _writer’s block_.

 

Namjoon says ‘of all times,’ because he majors in music, and of course, he has an album due in a couple of months. The first fucking song is due in two weeks. _Two_ _weeks. Shit_.

 

So it’s just a little more than frustrating that Namjoon’s incapable of writing or even _thinking_ for shit right now. He feels dehydrated, dizzy, and drained, fidgeting uncomfortably in his rolly chair. He wishes he had some wooden pencils so he could break stuff without feeling bad about it, but alas, all he has are mechanical pencils and pens (probably not the brightest idea to snap those in half).

 

Briefly, he contemplates texting Hoseok and complaining to him about it, but then crams that idea back into the void where it came from. Hoseok’s at a dance practice thing that he probably finds more important than helping Namjoon break his writer’s block. Fuck.

 

When he’s partially satisfied his frustration by downing a couple glasses of orange juice, he collapses onto the floor of his living room in defeat. With his face snug into the red fibers of the carpet, he berates himself over and over for not being able to write even one _stanza_ of decent lyrics. Hell, he doesn’t even have a single _draft_ for the fucking _notes._ His album’s lacking a title, too, just like how it’s kind of lacking _everything_.

 

The only bright side of all of this is that only the first half of the album is due within the next two months. If only Namjoon were capable of managing just _one fucking song_.

 

He lies on the floor like that for maybe a couple of hours (he lost track of time scrolling his twitter feed), hopelessly praying to be struck with even just the faintest spark of inspiration from various aesthetic accounts (he’s a desperate man). Defeat seems to be knocking on his door, but when he comes across a black aesthetics account, an image of a sleek motorbike pops up.

 

A pause. It’s the first picture that’s even stirred some inkling for writing. He’s about to ask himself _why_ , because it’s just a fucking motorcycle, when he realizes that it’s because it just...reminds him of Friday night. Of Jackson and Suga.

 

Namjoon decides to just fall asleep on the floor, wait for Hoseok to come barging home and get him on his feet for dinner, but not before saving the couple of motorbike photos.

 

\--

 

Namjoon’s classes drag on painfully slow all throughout the week, almost as if some invisible force is laughing at his pain. Night shifts at the Starbucks aren’t much different; at least Namjoon isn’t being forced to take notes like his life depends on it.

 

He doesn’t see Jackson or Suga at all for the first few days, but he does come across countless other motorbikers as the clock rolls around to seven-eight-ish and beyond. None of the them seem to bear even the slightest resemblance to either Jackson or Suga; at least, that’s what their outfits tell him. Flannel cardigans to cargo pants, the occasional baseball cap, or beat-up high-tops; they all come in different colors and brands, but none match either of the semi-anomalous guests he had seen on his Friday shift the week before.

 

And Namjoon knows they’re a part of a gang because they all have two things in common: they come in packs of maybe six or seven, maybe less, maybe more, and they park out front in their precious-looking motorbikes (the bikes differ gang-to-gang, Namjoon thinks).

 

Sometimes, though a group arrives on foot, but Namjoon knows they’re not the average round-up of civilians as soon as one of them opens their mouth to take an order. It’s either the smell of cough drops or the way their carefree attitude bleeds into their speech heavily enough to make an accent that gives away their identities (it should be known, though, that Namjoon hasn't touched alcohol with a two meter pole in his life, but he's pretty sure some of the kids smell like beer or liquor).

 

None of these customers bother Namjoon. None of them really even intimidate Namjoon; they’re just a bunch of kids (as in, they don’t look like they’re twelve, and they don’t look like they’re thirty). And when Namjoon says that, he doesn’t mean that he thinks they’re young enough that he can take them on in a fist fight (because Namjoon honestly can’t take _anyone_ on in a fistfight) and, he doesn’t mean that they’re brainless or the kind that can’t tell one from two. He means they aren’t a bunch of stray dogs; they have their own lives, with jobs, school, and shitty parents.

 

They’re not villains, either; Namjoon is able to distinguish this much through the way they laugh and joke around in the store. Namjoon’s met enough ‘ _bad_ ’ people in his life to be sure of this.

 

But Namjoon only knows so much, and on Wednesday night, six twenty, he decides to prod Jinyoung for a couple of answers.

 

“So, is there a reason why this place is a...gang hotspot at night?” Namjoon asks, adjusting the cake pops on display.

 

Jinyoung stares at him, twisting a lid onto a frappuccino, like Namjoon’s just dared him to go trash a parking-lot full of cars.

 

“I mean, I’ve just never seen so many, uh, people like that in the morning,” Namjoon rambles. But really -- Namjoon’s seen at _least_ seventy-something kids for the past two nights, decked out in matching outfits and other accessories. Namjoon feels like he deserves to know what’s so special about his workplace.

 

Jinyoung turns for a second to pass the drink across the counter. “No, it’s cool. I was just surprised you asked,” Jinyoung says, wiping the counter with a towel. He clears his throat twice, turning to face Namjoon. “It’s...kind of confusing depending on how much you already know. But clearly, you already know that there are...gangs,” Jinyoung purses his lips, like he’s trying to organize his thoughts. Namjoon nods.

 

“So, as you’ve seen, there are plenty of gangs throughout the city. Not like, city-crushers, the kind that go around beating the shit out of random people for stepping on their lawn, but they’re definitely gangs. It’s been that way for a while -- years, maybe, and there are so many of them that they’ve organized their own territories around the city. Sections, you could say.”

 

Namjoon nods again, and he feels sort of stupid for never noticing any this, because he’s lived here for a handful of years, and yet he’s never even _seen_ someone get mugged (but...that’s also a good thing that he hasn’t seen anything like that...right?).

 

“They’re not the kind to do kidnapping or drugs, I think; some these kids are in gangs just as a comfort thing. I dunno, I’m not in one, so don’t take my word verbatim. The most I know about them is that they all have bikes,” Jinyoung adds, tossing the towel back into the sink. “I dunno what the whole deal is, though, with those bikes. Might just be an aesthetic,” he sighs, turning back to the counter when a customer pops up.

 

A few more minutes of silence pass, and once the line’s clear, Namjoon jumps at the opportunity to pry for more information.

 

“Why is this place where everyone meets?” Namjoon asks as casually as he can, beginning to organize stacks of different sized coffee cups.

 

Jinyoung casts a crumpled napkin off into the trash. “Oh, you remember what I said about territories?” Namjoon nods. “This is the dead center of all their little sections. Think of it as no-man’s land, or the neutral zone; that’s why everyone seems to like this place so much. And it’s also why no one fights; some rule they have about their territories.” And then he shrugs, lips quirked. “I mean I don’t make this shit up, so I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

 

Namjoon pauses in the midst of his work. Well -- if Jinyoung didn’t know all ‘this shit,’ how did he come to even know _about_ it?

 

“How do you know so much?” Namjoon furrows a brow, inquisitive, trying not to seem accusatory.

 

Jinyoung snorts. “I’ve just worked here for too long. People talk when they get interested,” he says. “Kind of like you.”

 

Namjoon blinks. It’s not the answer he was trying to get at, but it’s...half an answer. He’ll take it.

 

\--

 

It doesn’t take long for Namjoon to get kicked right out of normalcy, just when he thought everything was dying back down.

 

And he’s kind of thankful for it, because really, his whole life has been one boring mix of subtle ups and downs.

 

It’s after classes are done, when Namjoon is parting ways with Hoseok, who’s leaving for work.

 

“No, strawberry. _Straw_ berry. _Straw._ I didn’t hear any _rasp_ in that sentence anywhere,” Namjoon stresses punctually. Hoseok works at a cupcakery, and usually, he’ll bring back some stuff for Namjoon.

 

Hoseok (he’s not an asshole; he’s nicer than Namjoon. But sometimes Namjoon thinks it’s the other way around. And by sometimes, he means all the time) just grins. “You’ll eat anything I make,” he says, and flees for his car before Namjoon can John Cena him or throw him in the air.

 

Namjoon groans. It’s not like he needs strawberry cupcakes to live. He just really likes them.

 

He heads toward the campus cafe (he’s only got a couple of pages of homework, thank fucking god), when the sound of a motorbike rumbles through the concrete and in his ears. Namjoon’s heard plenty of motorbikes growl, but there’s only one that revved like that.

 

“Hey! Stranger!”

 

Namjoon knows it’s Jackson long before he stops to turn on heel. Still, it’s refreshing to see the bubbly, bright smile the guy’s wearing as he pulls up alongside the curb, stopping with professional precision right at Namjoon’s side.

 

“Totally did not know you went here. Fucking radical,” Jackson grins at Namjoon, pushing his heel into the concrete to balance himself.

 

Namjoon shrugs his laptop bag up his shoulder. “Hey to you, too,” he says. “D’you go here?”

 

Jackson swipes his tongue over his lower lip -- Namjoon sees that his piercing is actually different than the one from before; this one’s a black stud -- and nods. “Senior. What about you?”

 

“Same,” Namjoon blinks. Jackson suddenly casts a quick look over his shoulder, and Namjoon inspects his outfit. There’s a distinct lack of leather and the color black, but Namjoon is not complaining, not one fucking bit, because Jackson’s decked out in a white tank top that looks at least one size too small for him. The rest of his outfit consists of (really, _really_ tight) jeans, rolled up at the cuff to reveal black boots.

 

Fucking. _Nice_.

 

“Say, are you headed out for lunch?” Jackson turns back to Namjoon, brow raised.

 

And, oh, hell _yeah_ , he is.

 

“Um, yeah, just across campus at the cafe,” Namjoon says, pointing limply at the foodcourt.

 

Jackson follows his finger, and Namjoon watches (he was forced to, okay? Jackson moved right up close his face) as Jackson leans into his space, trying to see where he’s pointing at. This close, Namjoon can see the way his brow crinkles in concentration, how his piercing shines in light of day. And the way he’s squinting is really doing things to Namjoon’s --

 

“You wanna come with?” Namjoon blurts out.

 

Jackson pulls away, much to Namjoon’s disappointment (the lines of his face were nice to look at! That’s what it was, Namjoon swears) and his lips pull back to show two rows of white.

 

“Only if you let me pay,” Jackson hums, playing with his piercing. _Stop it,_ Namjoon thinks. _Just. Stop_.

 

Namjoon doesn’t back down. “Only if we eat somewhere expensive.”

 

Jackson bites his lip, grinning all the while. “Okay, cool. I can work with that.” He steps off of his bike and begins walking alongside Namjoon. And, if he’s being honest, Namjoon wasn’t really expecting Jackson to accept; he kind of just wanted to see if Jackson was rich or not (he probably is. His bike looks really, really pricey, and so did that leather jacket from last Friday).

 

They wind up eating at the Mexican cafe, and even though the shrimp tacos Namjoon ordered were only a couple of bucks, Jackson stands like a fucking brick wall in front of the register when the lady behind the counter asks for money. Namjoon tried pushing him out of the way at the bicep, and, needless to say, it didn’t work.

 

They’re barely in their seats by the time Jackson fires back into conversation -- they’ve been blabbering and chatting it up to each other (mostly Jackson doing the blabbering_ the entire trek here.

 

“Shit, I didn’t ask, how old are you?” Jackson spins his chair and drops down, chest pressed into the backing. Not a second passes, and he gets that look in his eyes that fucks with Namjoon’s head (doe eyes? Puppy eyes? Kitten eyes? Something like that). “I mean -- fuck, you don’t have to tell me, I’m just curious. I’m twenty two.”

 

Namjoon slides into his chair. “Nah, it’s fine,” _I already told you my grade_ , he almost laughs. Jackson’s piercings are sort of flashy, but they don’t do shit to his adorability factor. “Twenty two, too.” Then, daringly, he raises a peace sign. “Twins?”

 

Jackson gives a very loud _Ha!_ , and he nods. “Hell yeah we are,” he scooches closer to the table. He rips a bite out of his taco, barely wiping at the lime juice that dribbles down his chin. “What’re you majoring in?” he mumbles.

 

Namjoon passes him a napkin, trying not to laugh. “Music,” he replies, and then his ears burn. If Jackson laughs at his choice in career he wouldn’t be the first, but it’s still kind of... _embarrassing_ , to be made fun of for wanting to do anything with music.

 

Except, Jackson does not ridicule his dreams.

 

“Holy fuck! same, same,” Jackson’s eyes erupt with stars as he wipes at his mouth with his napkin. He quickly composes himself, adjusting in his seat. “I mean, like, I double major, but still. Fucking insane.” He shifts again, grinning wide. “Who’s your teach? JYP? BH? YG?”

 

Namjoon blinks. None of those names ring any metaphorical bells, except for --

 

“Wait, JYP? As in, Jinyoung Park?” Namjoon frowns.

 

“Yep, the one and only. But, uh, you can't have him, ‘cause he's my teach. I would have seen you around,” Jackson nods, biting into his food again, smile positively fox-like.

 

Namjoon bites into a shrimp tumbling out from his taco. “Yeah, I know his kid though, Jinyoung, the barista. Friends, actually,” he mumbles, mouth full.

 

Jackson suddenly snaps his fingers, as though he’s come to realize something. “Shit -- really? Well -- ” he leans closer, voice quieting. “ -- did’ja know people used to call him Junio,’ so they wouldn't get the two mixed up?”

 

When Namjoon gives Jackson a look of disbelief -- because _Park Jinyoung_ using the nickname _Junior_? Hilarious; absolutely the joke of the century -- Jackson laughs, buoyant, thumbing his bangs back. “I know, right? You should call him by that just to see how he reacts, it's fucking great.”

 

“Park Junior?” Namjoon says it aloud, and it sounds so _weird_ , he almost coughs up a bite of his shrimp.

 

Jackson is still laughing. “Yeah, it’s so fuckin’ funny. It’s a childhood nickname. A _sad_ childhood nickname,” And then Jackson squints at Namjoon, lips pressed firmly together. “Don’t tell him I told you that. He’d try to punch me in the dick if he knew I told you his darkest secret.”

 

Namjoon rests a palm over his chest. “Wouldn’t dare,” he promises, smiling.

 

Jackson gives him a warm grin. “Truly my brother,” he says airily, mirroring Namjoon’s gesture, and Namjoon laughs.

 

Namjoon isn’t super into talking while eating, and thank god all he really has to do for the next half hour is recline and let Jackson run his mouth. And if Namjoon thought he had met the most talkative person on the planet (read: Hoseok), meeting Jackson was like meeting the man who _invented_ small talk.

 

Jackson has a tendency to blow up the littlest things, the minor details; the kind of stupid stuff Namjoon would prefer to gloss over to get to the point (“And then I crashed right into the post -- y’know, the metal kind? Couldn’t have been aluminum, because I almost broke my fucking arm. And did I mention that the asphalt fucked up my jacket? Do you know how _hard_ it is to find good leather? Like, this jacket I bought a couple weeks ago -- ”). Jackson, on the other hand, takes into account every minute topic for in depth discussion.

 

And, despite the fact that Namjoon has only seen him twice, and talked to him for maybe around three hours total, Namjoon can tell he embellishes, but never really lies.

 

And then, Namjoon gets a text from Hoseok.

 

“Wow, he actually listened,” Namjoon says in disbelief. Hoseok’s text has a picture of a strawberry cupcake, pink frosting and all. Hoseok’s smiling in the background, and right next to him is his coworker...Seok...min? They’re both grinning ear to ear, bearing twin smiles.

 

Jackson leans right over the table, and thank god Jackson’s finished his soda, because he knocks over. He peeks over his phone, keeping a palm on the table to steady himself, the other reaching out to catch the empty soda can before it can roll away.

 

“Shit, that looks good,” Jackson frowns, probably wallowing in envy. He points to Hoseok. “Who’s he?”

 

“The bane of my entire existence,” Namjoon replies on reflex, and he snickers when Jackson’s eyebrows shoot up. “Kidding. He’s my roommate, and I love him to fucking bits. His name’s Hoseok.”

 

Jackson’s eyes widen. “You have a roommate that can bake?” he looks at Namjoon longingly, but Namjoon is well aware it’s because of the cupcakes. “ _Hey_. Hook a brother up.”

 

Namjoon snorts, and he’s about to say no, buy your own deluxe, organic, friend-made cupcakes, but reconsiders it, because Jackson is giving him those same eyes again. And he paid for lunch, so.

 

“What do you want?” Namjoon says, crossing one leg over the other. “There’s banana, kiwi, starfruit, dragonfruit. Strawberry?”

 

Jackson startles. “Wait, what the fuck? _Dragon_ fruit?”

 

Namjoon shrugs. “They taste like the kiwi ones. It’s actually a tropics cupcake; they just use different fruit themes.”

 

For a second, Jackson eyes Namjoon like he's evaporating into thin air right in front of him, but he starts laughing. “Shit, I’ll try one, then,” he says between a laugh.

 

After Namjoon sends Hoseok the quick request via text, he glances up at Jackson and clears his throat. “So that’ll be twenty bucks.”

 

And, admittedly, Namjoon was not expecting Jackson to actually reach for his wallet. Jackson doesn’t so much as pause to check if Namjoon’s fucking with him.

 

“Woah, _wait_ \-- it was a joke -- ” Namjoon’s laughs nervously, throwing his arm out, and he actually catches Jackson by the arm, and. _Fuck_. Muscles. Error. “I mean -- they’re -- free. Hobi makes them for fun, sometimes.” He swallows, before releasing Jackson’s arm as quick as he’d latched on.

 

Jackson stops, and when he opens his mouth presumably to protest, Namjoon cuts in to add, “You already paid for lunch. Seriously.”

 

Namjoon’s phone buzzes again, and when he unlocks his phone it’s a picture of a tropics cupcake, dragon fruit style. He turns the screen to show Jackson.

 

“See? He’s already got one made. Said he made extras, so they’re free. F-R-E-E,” Namjoon says with crisp confidence, pointing to the text as he enunciates each letter.

 

Jackson’s eyes say he’s got about seven different things he wants to point out, but it looks like he only picks one when he glances down at the corner of Namjoon’s phone.

 

“Oh, shit, it’s two fifty-three? Shit, shit, _fuck_ ,” Jackson curses suddenly, practically leaping out of his chair, snatching his drained soda can. “Sorry, I gotta run. Hah, he’s gonna fuckin’ have my ass for breakfast -- ” he stops, looks at Namjoon who’s probably looking exactly like a deer in headlights. “Thanks for lunch, man. And for the cupcake. And for letting me talk. It was great!”

 

And Namjoon’s about to say he _doesn’t know when he’ll see him again, so how the hell am I supposed to get you your cupcake_ , when he realizes that tomorrow is actually Friday night. Meaning, at six fifteen, he’s gonna see platinum blonde hair and a black, leather jacket. Probably?

 

So he lets Jackson leave, waving him off with a quaint, _See ya_ , and listens as the sound of Jackson’s motorbike growls off into the distance.

 

Well, Jackson had better be okay with one-day-old cupcakes.

 

\--

 

Namjoon practically counts down the hours to six fifteen, checking his phone for the time every few minutes. It doesn’t take very long for Jinyoung to notice.

 

“Do you have a date tonight, or something?” Jinyoung asks, shooting him an estranged look from the back counter.

 

Namjoon splutters, because -- _what_ \-- “What? _No_ \-- no,” he responds without a second thought, squinting back at Jinyoung. “What gave you that idea?”

 

Jinyoung quirks his mouth to the side, as if he’s not being completely rude and intrusive (and it’s not a _date,_ it’s a cupcake delivery. Sort of).

 

“I was only asking. You’re eyeing your phone like you’re waiting for a million dollar account transfer. You texting Hoseok?” Jinyoung sighs, sliding a tall triple caramel shot latte across the take-out counter.

 

“No, I was checking the time,” Namjoon denies crossly, and peeks at his phone once more. Six thirteen.

 

Jinyoung frowns. “So, a date?”

 

“ _No_ ! I was -- ” okay, _no_ \-- Namjoon is not about to admit he’s waiting to hand a cupcake over to a motorbiker that Jinyoung may or may not know very well. “ -- I’m waiting for a -- a friend.” Fuck -- _fuck_ \-- alright, maybe Namjoon _is_ going to spill the beans.

 

Jinyoung’s expression only sharpens with further doubt, and Namjoon deflates.

 

“I have a cupcake. For Jackson,” Namjoon mumbles, gaze flickering off to the side. It feels like he’s confessing to hiding cocaine in his backyard.

 

Jinyoung gives him a look of disbelief, squinting, and Namjoon is not about to let him lecture him on his friend choices (that occupation is currently held by Hoseok, and Hoseok only).

 

“We had lunch yesterday, okay? And Hoseok was texting me, and Jackson got curious and asked about it, so I told him I’d get him some, and why is it that you failed to mention that he goes to the same college as us?” Namjoon rambles, using his advantage to turn the accusatory finger on Jinyoung.

 

Jinyoung -- _the fucker_ \-- deflects. “What flavor?”

 

“Tropics. Dragonfruit. And you didn’t answer my question,” Namjoon answers anyways, folding his arms.

 

That at least gets Jinyoung to shift uncomfortably, but he averts his eyes, giving no answer. Not good enough for Namjoon.

 

“Dude, just tell me. I’m not gonna go crazy if he smokes, or whatever,” Namjoon rolls his eyes. Maybe if he threatens to tell the whole university that he went by the name Junior, he’ll respond.

 

Jinyoung sighs, is about to say whatever he’s gonna say, but he’s interrupted by the very familiar growl of a motorbike. Namjoon glances out the glass, and yeah, that’s definitely Jackson; platinum blonde hair and black leather jacket.

 

“Hold on, be back in a sec,” Namjoon says, swerving around to the back. He finds his laptop bag and digs around for the cupcake (it’s not that hard to find; all Namjoon keeps in there is his laptop and some snacks). When he retrieves the box and returns to the counter, Jackson’s already sauntering up to the register. His eyes are narrowed, like he’s surveying the store, but when he catches sight of Namjoon, he breaks into the kind of smile people use when they’ve won the lottery.

 

“S’up, Namjoon?” Jackson calls, planting his palms onto the counter, leaning forward.

 

Jinyoung, already at the register, folds his arms. “I assume you don’t want me to make your coffee tonight?” he says, airy, straight to the point.

 

Jackson’s sticks his tongue out at Jinyoung. “Got that right. You’ve been replaced; move over,” he affirms, cocking his head to the left, and Jinyoung doesn’t waste any time sliding out of the way.

 

Namjoon steps up to the counter, sliding the box across the counter. “Hey,” he smiles, “One tropics cupcake, dragon fruit style, absolutely free of charge.”

 

That gets Jackson to laugh. “Not stopping me from buying something from here,” he say, pulling out the money for his drink quickly handing it to Namjoon, and he leans down to get a good look at the cupcake.

 

“They’re organic, by the way. Thought you’d like that,” Namjoon says informatively, slipping the money into the register. He stops when he realizes that Jackson hasn’t...actually ordered? “Uh, you want what you had last time, right?” he pauses, just to make sure he isn’t about to fuck anything up.

 

Jackson smirks, and he’s biting at his piercing. “If you remember what I ordered, yeah.”

 

Well, that’s an easy one.

 

“Do you _know_ what kind of shit people ask for?” Namjoon laughs, punching in his order with a roll of his eyes. “You don’t have anything on hipsters, trust me.”

 

Jackson shrugs,. “I used to order extra shit just to mess with Jinyoung,” he admits shamelessly, passing a sideways glance to the other barista, who must be tuning him out, and then turns back to Namjoon. “But I’m a changed man.”

 

Namjoon snorts, takes an empty cup and jots down Jackson’s name. “I’m grateful then.”

 

And Jackson chuckles, stays right by the counter as Namjoon fixes up his mocha. As Jackson’s barking on about JYP, being all prissy about his teaching style, Namjoon kind of stares at Jackson’s face, also his jacket. He’s trying to memorize how the bridge of his nose curves when Jackson speaks up.

 

“So, you never told me who your coach was,” Jackson muses, breaking through to Namjoon’s attention.

 

Namjoon blinks. “What?”

 

“Your music coach. Who’s yours?” Jackson repeats,messing with the collar of his jacket.

 

“Oh, I have Bang,” Namjoon adds the final touch of chocolate chips to the mocha.

 

Jackson makes a nodding ‘oooh’ as Namjoon passes him his mocha. “BH; I haven’t heard too much about him, other than he gets sick a lot. You like him?”

 

“Yeah, he's pretty good,” Namjoon checks the counter; it's thankfully empty.

 

Actually, that's an understatement (overstatement?) to say Bang’s pretty good. At least, when referring to how he helps Namjoon with writing, because sometimes it feels like he only helps Namjoon. It's not that difficult to sniff out favoritism, even if you're the subject of said preference. Namjoon feels kind of bad whenever his teacher occasionally just shrugs off other students, but for some reason, is always up to help whenever Namjoon talks to him.

 

According to Hoseok, the guy still treats the morning class the same way. Hoseok and Namjoon were basically class kings; it's still the same way, only now, they’re separated.

 

Jackson raises his cup to his lips, but pauses. “D’you dance at all? JYP has us choreograph stuff sometimes. Kinda fun.”

 

“ _No_ , no. God, no. I’m like, candidate for world’s worst dancer,” Namjoon says hastily, shaking his head profusely. “Hoseok’s the one that does the dancing. Don’t ever ask me to dance. Like, ever.”

 

Jackson lowers his drink, smirks. “What, are you gonna stomp my feet off? I’ll have you know that I’ve broken toes in both my feet, multiple times. Martial arts is great,” Jackson shoots back, finally taking a drink, and his face melts like he’s feeling -- uh, no. No. Not going there (Namjoon thinks he mumbles a rough, _So good_ , under his breath and that’s not fucking helping _at all_ ).

 

And then it clicks that Jackson assumed Namjoon meant couples dancing, not performance-style dancing, and that’s kinda. Um.

 

“You do martial arts?” Namjoon doesn’t waste a single fucking second getting that shit out of his head.

 

Jackson swallows down some more of his mocha, and he nods like a proud soccer mom. “Hell yeah, I do! Been practicing for like, four years now. It’s real fuckin’ cool, because whenever we do performances, I’m pretty much the only guy doing flips,” he says, obviously enthused, and Namjoon feels himself smiling.

 

“Flips? As in, back flips?” Namjoon folds his arms, interest piqued.

 

As soon as the question is in the air, Jackson’s expression warms, irises bright bands of chocolate brown to match the color of his mocha. “Front flips, tumbling, yeah. It’s super fun, but I sprain my ankles a lot. Sucks for fencing,” he says with a touch of wistfulness, and -- _wait a second_.

 

“Okay, okay, hold on -- you _fence?_ ” Namjoon gawks, and he really hopes his jaw isn’t dropping too far, but really, what the _fuck_?

 

“Yeah, been doing that since I was, uh, ten? I won gold at the junior olympics, y’know. And I play basketball, too,” Jackson nods, and his grin is sunbright, overwhelmingly cheery. “I think that completes the list.”

 

And it’s then that Namjoon sees how far ahead Jackson is, how high up he is; about a million miles above sea level. Hollywood-look-alike is moving faster than the speed of light, and he’s not slowing down.

 

Huh. Kinda mesmerizing.

 

“I’ve got a couple ‘a games this coming week. How about it? Wanna see how fantastic my lay up is?” Jackson’s still buzzing on, not waiting to check if Namjoon’s paying attention.

 

“When’s your first game?” Namjoon says after a beat, deciding that seeing Jackson play is probably more than worth it (although, isn’t Jackson kind of short? He must be able to jump pretty high).

 

“Wednesdays, and then every other Saturday. But yeah, next Wednesday is the season opener,” Jackson says, and he’s tapping his fingers against his mocha, almost like he’s nervous. “So is that a yes?”

 

“Yep,” Namjoon nods, but then he adds, “Only if the tickets are free.”

 

Jackson, surprisingly, does not immediately offer to pay, nor does he groan in exasperation. Instead, he winks and says, “I can use the girlfriend discount, if that’s what you’re asking for. Free games for free kisses.”

 

“Looks like I’m not going, then,” Namjoon sighs, and he’s only able to contain himself for about a half of a second before breaking out into laughter. Jackson’s laughing, too, and Namjoon’s worried he’s going to spill his mocha as he holds his cap-free mocha out, contents splashing against the sides.

 

The tickets turn out to be eight bucks, but Jackson promises that they’re free, as long as he tells the guys at the entrance he’s _With the Wang_. Apparently it’s Jackson’s last name, and it takes more than a few reassurances to convince Namjoon he’s not joking.

 

\--

 

Namjoon finds that the Starbucks is very, very much lonelier with Jackson absent.

 

Or maybe it’s just that Namjoon didn’t notice it as much as he did before, when Jackson first waltzed in and then out of the coffee shop. But he sure as hell can tell the difference in atmosphere now that Jackson’s taken his leave a second time.

 

Jackson had left with a sunny, “See you Wednesday!” and along with him, any enjoyment Namjoon had felt on the job.

 

“Did he like it?” Jinyoung is asking, barely a minute after, retying his apron (isn’t his shift almost done, though?).

 

“Like what?” Namjoon frowns, looking up from his espresso-in-progress.

 

“The cupcake,” Jinyoung clarifies. “You said it was a...dragonfruit one?”

 

“Oh. That. Fuck, I forgot to ask,” Namjoon swears. He’s pretty sure that Jackson didn’t actually eat any of the cupcake; just sipped from his mocha and talked a mile a minute.

 

“You could text him,” Jinyoung shrugs passively, and Namjoon is about to agree when --

 

“I, um, don’t have his number,” Namjoon admits meekly. It’s almost as bad as the first time he met Jackson; wherein he barely gleaned so much as five solid facts about Jackson. At least he knows his last name now, though.

 

Jinyoung gives Namjoon an unamused, slightly disappointed glower. “You mean, after almost two hours straight of you two passing nonsense back and forth -- ” rude. _Rude_. It’s like Jinyoung wouldn’t know what a normal conversation was if it smacked in the face. “ -- and god knows how long you two spent lunch together, you don’t have his number?”

 

Namjoon fiddles with the handle of the coffee grinder. “Um, nope.”

 

Jinyoung rolls his eyes like he’s given up on the world, but then he’s tugging his phone out of his pocket. “Here, I’ll give it to you,” he sighs, beginning to unlock his phone.

 

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll see him on Wednesday,” Namjoon holds a hand up, because it would be kind of creepy for Namjoon to just text Jackson out of nowhere to ask him what the cupcake tasted like. Also, Jackson would probably assume he asked Jinyoung for his number, which Namjoon _definitely did not_ , because it was _Jinyoung_ that brought the whole subject of cellphone numbers up. “I’ll have his number before next Friday.”

 

Jinyoung hesitates, but puts his phone back into his pocket after a brief second of thought. “Okay,” he says, like he’s doubting Namjoon. “Just...you have unlimited text, right?”

 

Namjoon blinks. “Yeah, why?”

 

Jinyoung just grimaces. “Prepare yourself. Prepare your phone.”

 

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “You forget who I live with,” he grumbles, and his point is further proven when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. “See?” he holds up his phone, checking to see that it’s really Hoseok, and -- yep, that’s him. “Look at what I already live with,” he says, pointing to the text notification.

 

Jinyoung holds his hands up. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says, before turning back to the counter, and Namjoon actually starts to worry that Jackson is as talkative in a virtual conversation as he would be in a face-to-face one, because he’s got Hobi fairly beat by at least a couple of miles.

 

\--

 

By the time ten o'clock rolls around, Namjoon’s feeling ready to pass out.

 

Hoseok has (presumably) already passed out, having stopped texting Namjoon about fifteen minutes ago. Namjoon feels kind of resentful, also a little bit like he’s been abandoned, but he’s not irritated enough to really be upset. Hoseok had a mini-showcase, or something, so it’s not surprising that he’s tapped out so early.

 

Wooyoung asks him a couple of times if he wants to sit down, but Namjoon refuses (their other coworkers haven’t shown up yet; it’d be really, really rude of Namjoon to make Wooyoung and Mingyu and those other guys he doesn’t really know do everything). Things do slow down enough for Namjoon to get somewhat of a grip on himself, and he hasn't (noticeably) fucked up anyone's order. Yet.

 

It’s really not typical of Namjoon to get so drowsy so quickly, but he suspects it has something to do with the fact that there’s been a weird influx of customers. The gang kind, too. Endless iced coffees, endless frappuccinos. The only good thing Namjoon can find through the sea of orders is that no one ever really asks for anything wild; usually it’s just plain, straight orders. Simple. It’s nice.

 

And Namjoon’s doing a respectable job coping with his exhaustion, until it’s ten thirty, and he’s nodding off at the register. This time, Wooyoung isn’t up front to save him, and Namjoon’s about to capsize when there’s a very sharp smack of hands on the counter.

 

“Hey,” comes Suga’s voice, and he’s snapping his fingers right in front of Namjoon’s face.

 

Namjoon snaps to attention, the sight of mint green hair sucking the sleep from his eyes. Needless to say, Namjoon’s not tired anymore.

 

“Oh my god, shit, sorry, I don’t usually -- sorry,” Namjoon feels his ear warming (god, how fucking _embarrassing_ would it have been to have fallen asleep -- and in front of _him_ , too). Thank god it wasn’t Hoseok waking him up; he’d probably be slapping him instead of snapping at him.

 

Suga doesn’t really seem irritated in the slightest (that, or he just looks irritated by everything), giving Namjoon a brief once-over, almost like he’s trying to see what’s wrong with Namjoon. He doesn’t respond, just gives a short nod, stuffing his hands back into his jacket pockets.

 

“Uh, what’d you like?” Namjoon says, fighting off the instinct to yawn or stretch as he grip the side of the register.

 

Suga inhales, exhales, like he’s just as tired as Namjoon is. “Citrus green tea frappuccino. Tall.”

 

“Okay, anything else?” Namjoon hums. He doesn’t bother writing the order on the cup, just enters it into the register.

 

Suga actually looks over to the open refrigerator this time, taking a second to look over its contents, before he responds with a curt, “No.”

 

Namjoon musters a warm smile, even if Suga misses it as he rummages through his pockets for the cash, and -- hey, he’s wearing a new jacket. It looks like it’s from the same brand, but Namjoon’s no fashion expert, so it’s not as if he’s one hundred percent sure. Instead of the olive greenish fabric jacket from last week, this one’s black, leathery. Namjoon would coin it as similar to Jackson’s, but there’s a noticeable lack of the excessive zippers and pockets that Jackson’s had.

 

“Nice jacket,” Namjoon lets the compliment slip right as Suga hands him the money, before he can internally process the thought itself. It felt...automatic. “Is it new, or…?”

 

Suga spares a quick look down at his jacket, shrugs. “Yeah. Bought it a month ago,” he sighs, quiet.

 

Namjoon swallows; nods. It’s so _weird_ talking to someone that really, _blatantly_ is not interested in talking back, especially since Namjoon is used to Hobi’s never-ending craving for conversation, and even Jackson’s _listen to my life story_ mindset when it comes to lone customers. Suga is giving off plenty of the _leave me the fuck alone_ signals that Namjoon sees Jinyoung emanate whenever he gets bad test scores (bad, as in A minuses). Namjoon would say it’s rude, but Suga’s a customer, and also, Namjoon has no idea what kind of day he’s had (maybe he’s had a shitty day, with more coffee spills, or something).

 

Even so, Namjoon can’t shake off the urge to want to talk with this guy. And no, Namjoon isn’t one of those people that believes a little bit of pep talk makes everyone’s day better, Namjoon’s smarter than that, but’s it’s just -- it’s like -- ugh. There’s something…off? Different? About Suga that Namjoon feels like he should genuinely be interested in.

 

“You’re sure you didn’t get burned?” Namjoon says, in hopes of managing a little bit of a response from Suga. He tries very hard not to look away from Suga’s face, tries very hard to look like he’s not trying to pry his way into Suga’s personal life.

 

Suga shakes his head, the curtain of his bangs barely flicked aside. “I’m fine,” he huffs, a little harsh, and with a quiet sigh, says, “Don’t worry about it.”

 

And with that, Suga turns away, heads over to the counter to wait for his drink. Namjoon turns, slowly, and begins work on the frappuccino.

 

Namjoon’s adding the whipped topping when he hears…is that...hip hop?

 

When he turns, looking for a lid to top the frappuccino off, he sees that Suga’s pulled his earbuds out, and he has them blasted up to a volume that’s too loud to be healthy for his hearing. From where he’s standing, Namjoon can recognize the beat, the rhythm. It takes him a second to realize he figured out the song more by how Suga was mouthing the lyrics more than actually hearing the song itself.

 

And Namjoon finds himself watching, anticipating every verse, each word running through his own head as Suga’s soundlessly mimics every rolling consonant and vowel in between. Suga’s looking downcast, at his phone, bangs hiding his eyes, and Namjoon can just barely see how his nose twitches just the slightest whenever he reaches the chorus.

 

Okay, _okay_ \-- enough staring; Namjoon’s already finished with his drink.

 

“Citrus green tea frap,” Namjoon calls, and at first he wonders if Suga can even hear him, until he sees he’s got one earbud hanging loose.

 

Suga glances up at Namjoon, then back to his phone, presumably to pause the music. He walks up to the counter, takes the frappuccino, and -- uh. The pad of his thumb just barely presses into the crease of Namjoon’s hand, and Namjoon freezes, eyes darting around. His heartbeat suddenly roars to life, blood and adrenaline pumping so fuckign _fast_ , and he blurts out the first thing that rises to consciousness.

 

“You like G-Dragon?” Namjoon’s words are tumbling out, having caught sight of the rapper’s album photo on Suga’s phone screen (also, he was the one that wrote and did the rap Suga was reciting. But hey, visual triggering).

 

Suga blinks at Namjoon, like he’s just suggested that the real color of the sky is purple, just a couple of shades shy of true blue. But then the look of surprise vanishes, his cold-cut expression back in place.

 

“Yeah,” Suga sniffs, slowly taking up his drink from Namjoon. Then, cautiously, as if he thinks something will bite him in the neck, he says, “You?”

 

Well, hell _yeah_ , Namjoon likes G-Dragon. He’s only one of Namjoon biggest inspirations ever; one of the reasons he’s slaving away to writer’s block in music class and not moping around in some office job. Call it inspirational.

 

“Yeah. He’s like, uh, a role model for me,” Namjoon nods. He cuts his elaboration short, for both their sakes.

 

When Suga doesn’t make any move to leave, Namjoon realizes that he’s successfully engaged him in conversation. Like, actual talk that isn’t just a _Hi, bye_ thing.

 

“Oh,” Suga says, taking a sip from his drink (he doesn’t react in any way; Namjoon can only pray it’s satisfactional). “You got a favorite song?”

 

And! Internal cheer! Another response that isn’t just an answer! “That XX,” Namjoon says without so much as a second thought. “Knock Out’s pretty good, too,” he makes a small gesture towards Suga’s phone, which is playing that exact song. Namjoon is thankful, again, that there’s no line at the counter, and directs all of his remaining energy into talking to Suga. “What’s yours?”

 

Suga shifts, turns the volume on his phone down, and Namjoon is more thrilled than he’d care to admit, because it’s another small sign that Suga wants to at least hear what Namjoon has to say.

 

“I’m more of a T.O.P person, actually,” Suga admits airily, crisp. And, hey, that’s okay, because T.O.P is another one of Namjoon’s role models. And then Suga looks off to the side. “But. I do like That XX.”

 

Namjoon has to contain himself, stop himself from beaming, because he’s sure he’ll scare Suga off if he so much as smiles too bright. _Fuck_ , maybe Hoseok was right, maybe Namjoon _is_ making progress.

 

Namjoon is about to ask him what his favorite T.O.P song is, when he catches Suga pointedly staring off in the direction of the door. There are a couple of guys making their way inside, and Namjoon feels his heart and hopes dropping low into his stomach. Because, really? They just found like, three points of common interest, and now Namjoon’s gotta go?

 

Namjoon smiles, a little weaker than he’d like it to be. “Gotta go,” he says. “Hope you like the drink.”

 

And Namjoon turns before he can allow himself to gauge Suga’s reaction, if there even was one. Hopefully Suga’s going to stay…?

 

Suga nods, just a small dip of his chin, and turns out, he does choose to stay. He’s seated in the exact same spot he sat in before, leaned over his phone and sipping from his straw. He’s moving his lips to a new song, but from this angle Namjoon can’t really tell what it is.

 

The last few customers come in, order their espressos and other concoctions specifically made to force wakeness, and with every order, Namjoon glances over to where Suga is, just to make sure he’s still there. But then, Namjoon could really just listen for the sound of his motorcycle revving up to hear if he’s left. Or should he? Suga’s bike is a lot quieter than any of the other motorcycles other gang members own, and Namjoon might miss it.

 

When ten twenty four is glaring back at Namjoon from his phone screen, Wooyoung is nice enough to tell him he can go if he’s still tired. Which, granted, Namjoon is very sleepy, but the reason he wants to stop his shift early is to talk to Suga.

 

So when Namjoon’s packed up his things, he tries to look as normal and casual as a human being can possibly be when he makes his way up to Suga.

 

Suga has both of his earbuds in, Namjoon sees, so the only way he’s going to successfully grab his attention is if he a) touches him, or b) waits for him to notice that he’s very awkwardly just...standing there.

 

And after some inner debate, Namjoon realizes that Suga is more than likely one of those people that enjoys having personal space, undisturbed and left alone. So...maybe it isn’t the brightest idea to tap him on the shoulder, or touch him at all.

 

It takes just half of a second for Namjoon to tell himself, _Fuck it_ , and he walks right up to where Suga’s sitting.

 

“Hey,” Namjoon smiles, and he silently screams when he can’t decide if he should sit or stay standing. Suga thankfully sees him (or just chooses to not ignore him), looking up from his phone. He doesn’t say anything, but he lowers the volume on his phone. And even if he doesn’t take his earbuds out, Namjoon is going to assume this is a green light for all things conversational.

 

“So, you like Hi Haruka?” Namjoon clears his throat, and very unconfidently, tells himself _Fuck everything_ , and slides a chair out to take a seat. Right next to Suga. _Fuck_.

 

Suga blinks, doesn’t move. “Yeah. It’s a favorite.”

 

That’s a little surprising, because Namjoon doesn’t remember that particular song climbing too high in the charts. But of course, everyone has personal preference.

 

“You’re into hip hop?” Namjoon says, and he supposes it’s a stupid question, but he’s not about to admit he was paying close enough attention to tell what all ten past songs Suga’s been listening to were.

 

Suga shrugs. “It’s better than anything else out there.”

 

It’s probably meant to sound bitter, or disdainful, and it does, but to Namjoon it just sounds... _natural_ , coming from someone like Suga, and he laughs a little. Namjoon doesn’t have anything against pop or rock or indie, but he holds preference for hip hop over the other shades of music.

 

“Sweet. Who else do you listen to?” Namjoon crosses one leg over the other, but doesn’t lean forward or back into his seat. He’s doesn’t know if he’d be sending the right signals; doesn’t even know _what_ the right or wrong signals are.

 

Suga looks down at his phone, scrolling. Namjoon refrains from visually prying for any more information, keeping his eyes trained on Suga even if he doesn’t do the same. “CL isn’t bad. Neither is Giriboy,” Suga says, placing his phone onto the table, and -- woah, he’s -- taking his earbuds out -- does this mean he actually wants to _talk_ ? Shit, fucking _great_ \--

 

“Oh, you like both underground and mainstream rappers?” Namjoon smiles, and he can’t help the way his back straightens. He’s kind of surprised to hear Suga likes CL, a more pop-oriented idol; but then again, she switched over to an idol-life two years ago. A while back, she used to perform in a darker spotlight.

 

“I’m a producer. I’ve worked with both of them before,” Suga says, and wait, wait, wait -- what?

 

“Wh -- You’ve produced their music?” Namjoon almost squawks. He collects himself as quickly as he can.

 

“Composed some, threw in a couple of lyrics, yeah. I produced Dr. Pepper for CL,” Suga nods placidly, and so...that explains why Suga’s rich as fuck; he’s worked with CL before, and he’s a producer -- wait.

 

“Your name -- ” Namjoon starts, but then realizes, _yeah_ , he has seen the name Suga before; it’s just...Namjoon thought it was pronounced ‘soo-guh.’ “That’s where I’ve seen your name. Shit, shit, oh my god.” Well, Namjoon just feels fucking stupid. How the _fuck_ did he not recognize one of his idol’s names. Suga is _Gloss_ , or Agust D -- he’s like, one of Namjoon’s _number one idols_ , and he’s sitting in his _goddamn coffee shop_ , drinking a frappuccino that _Namjoon made_ , and he’s _talking with Namjoon_ , holy _fuck_ (Suga’s only begun to use his real name, he’s kept it secret for so long, so that’s kind of an excuse for Namjoon to not have recognized it -- but Namjoon still feels like a fucking idiot, because this is _Suga_ ).

 

Suga sniffs, doesn’t seem to be miffed by Namjoon’s sort-of ignorance. “Yeah. Not surprised you didn’t recognize it; it’s my real name. Only revealed it recently.”

 

“No, no,” Namjoon says, swallowing. “I -- I know all the stuff you’ve worked on before. You produced Crazy, and you produced and composed Hello Bitches? Holy shit, holy _shit_.”

 

There’s a flash of emotion that crosses Suga’s face, eyes widening just the slightest and lips just barely parting. It’s gone too fast for Namjoon to decipher what exactly it is.

 

“You,” Suga pauses, raises his wrist to cough into it. “You like those songs?”

 

“Dude, Hello Bitches is _the shit_ . You’re so fucking good at writing music,” Namjoon gushes. It probably should feel surreal, like a dream sitting right in front of undoubtedly _the_ best producers Namjoon’s ever heard, but Suga certainly looks real, and he’s exuding a very _real_ presence. A nice, grounded-ness that has weight to it, as if to ensure that this isn’t all a dream. Which Namjoon is very thankful for, because god, if this was a dream, Namjoon would probably wake up crying (from both the joy of experiencing a conversation with one of his greatest idols, and also the tragedy of it all being fake).

 

“Sorry, it’s just -- I’m a music major. Your pieces -- you -- I, uh, look up to you,” Namjoon swallows,  bringing himself down a little. Enough fan frenzy from him; Suga’s probably annoyed by it enough.

 

“Ah,” Suga says, as if something’s clicking. “You want to be a producer? Rapper?”

 

Namjoon’s mouth is opening to answer, but he finds he doesn’t actually have an answer. He swallows. “Maybe a rapper?” he frowns slightly, unsure. “I mean, that’s what I wanted to be as a kid. Dunno.”

 

Suga smiles, chuckles a little, and Namjoon is fairly certain that his heart pumped at least fifty-times harder at the sight. Because _hey_ \-- there aren’t any pictures of Suga, at least that are released to the public, and it’s just kicking in that Namjoon is maybe one of the very few people in the world to witness such a grand smile from Suga. _In person_.

 

“You like writing music?” Suga inquires, resting his cheek against his fist. He looks somewhat relaxed now, which Namjoon considers a miracle in itself (does this mean Suga’s warming up to him? Maybe getting...comfortable?).

 

“Yeah. I’m kinda stuck in writer’s block right now, though,” Namjoon replies, shoulders going a little slack. He feels a little buzzed, but at the same time hyper aware, and he wonders if this is what it feels like to be drunk on excitement.

 

Suga narrows his eyes, but it’s not out of scrutiny. It’s more out of pondering; thoughtfulness.

 

And then Suga’s phone buzzes.

 

After glancing at what must have been a text and stabbing a reply into the keyboard, Suga stands from his seat.

 

“I gotta run,” Suga says, and there’s something in his voice that almost sounds...apologetic. He scratches at his neck absently. “Thanks for the company.”

 

Namjoon feels his heart sink a little, just like it did last week. But...yeah, Namjoon should probably be getting home too.

 

At his feet, too, pushing his chair in, he breaks a quaint smile for Suga. “Uh, anytime,” he says, scratching at his neck. _Thanks for letting me talk with you,_ he almost adds.

 

Namjoon ends up following Suga outside, after waving Wooyoung good night, and as Suga’s mounting his bike, Namjoon really can’t help himself.

 

“So, next Friday?” Namjoon calls without a second thought. He can’t help but feel a little anxious; he wouldn’t be surprised if Suga chose to avoid this Starbucks completely for the rest of his life, seeing as he might not want to be near a fan of his so much. Which is...understandable. Painful to comprehend, but understandable.

 

Suga pauses, seemingly suspended at Namjoon’s words. Then he seats himself, gripping his helmet.

 

“Next Friday,” Suga echoes, and then he slips his helmet over his head. His motorbike really is a lot quieter than most, Namjoon realizes as Suga’s pulling out of the lot and out of his line of sight.

 

Namjoon would sing to high heaven, because hey, _new friends_ , but Namjoon can’t sing (he would kill if he dared to try), and on his way back home, blasts Hello Bitches at full volume, mint green hair on his mind.

 

\--

 

Over the weekend, Namjoon spends a majority of his time browsing through all the music Suga’s worked on. There are plenty of his works in CL’s latest album, and now Namjoon feels really, _really_ fucking stupid for not having noticed who Suga was the first time he met him (he’s been tired, okay? Working on an album can be really draining, especially when you’re chest-deep in writer’s block).

 

Namjoon’s always known that Suga’s got a really distinct style when it comes to his composed pieces. He likes his background bass-heavy, but he keeps it expertly balanced in a way that doesn’t make his ears hurt whenever Namjoon listens to it through his earbuds. It’s really recognizable, unique, and yeah, Namjoon still feels ridiculous over not recognizing Suga in an instant.

 

Namjoon doesn’t have all of the songs wherein Suga’s written the _lyrics,_ but he decides he’ll stock up on cash for an iTunes card or something to see what there is (as in, buy every single song that Suga’s worked on that Namjoon doesn’t have yet). Namjoon’s listened to his stuff on Youtube, and _god_ , his lyrics are something else -- on a level completely out of this world, beyond the stars and across the universe. His skill is unparalleled, honestly, and Namjoon could probably never hope to ascend to such a height.

 

Hoseok is, of course, delighted to hear that Namjoon has new regulars, and tells him he should get him a cupcake the next time he sees him (which will, of course, be next Friday).

 

\--

 

Jackson lets Namjoon know that the first game is at home campus, nearly crashing into him in passing period on Monday. He also reminds Namjoon about the special password for free entry, and Namjoon _swears_ that if he’s fucking with him, he’s never going to see any of his games ever again.

 

And so Namjoon finds himself outside, in line, wondering how Hoseok’s dance practice is going. And also if he’s about to make a fool of himself, because _goddamnit_ , Jackson, why did you have to make the password using _that word_.

 

As Namjoon finally makes it to the usher at the entrance, he throws out whatever pride he thought he had and says Jackson’s code as quietly as he can, but at a volume he thinks the guy should be able to hear.

 

“What?” The usher frowns, and Namjoon almost groans, because fucking _come on._

 

“Jackson Wang,” Namjoon grits out. There’s no way in _hell_ he’s going to repeat himself. This guy better not make him say it again.

 

“Oh, no, I heard you. It’s just, you don’t look like the usual crew,” the usher muses with a quirked brow. Namjoon’s about to ask what the usual crew is, when the usher just moves out of the way. “Go on ahead,” he says, and Namjoon doesn’t waste any second making his way into the gymnasium, because, as previously stated, Namjoon is _not_ going to repeat himself.

 

Once inside, Namjoon realizes that he’s early, staring down at his phone clock. It’s only about ten minutes before three, but he’s still kind of surprised to see that the stands are pretty full. He opts for a seat that’s in the front. He’s kind of tall, though, so he slides closer to the stairs, because god knows some bratty toddler is going to choose the seat behind him and complain about Namjoon being in their way.

 

Jackson’s not hard to spot, platinum blonde hair combed back, piercing shining beneath the gym lights, and really, Namjoon would recognize those biceps _anywhere_ , even if he’s only really seen them twice (well, once -- the first time, he only _felt_ them). It’s sort of weird to see Jackson in a basketball jersey and shorts, everything hanging so low and loose, but Jackson seems to be perfectly fine, moving around on the balls of his heels, grinning all the while.

 

From the quick pre-game warm-up, Namjoon observes that Jackson’s a point guard, and _shit_ , he really _does_ jump high. He’s really wordy on the court, too, like he is all the time, even while he’s practicing free-throws, casually chatting up his teammates. The most noticeable thing, though, above his hair and piercings and even his muscles, is his grin, teeth so bright Namjoon’s eyes almost hurt looking at them (the question is: is it natural, or is that crest whitening strips?).

 

By the time the game fires up, the stands are filled up, and it’s _loud_ . Not as loud as any concert Namjoon’s been to, but nonetheless, _loud_ , and it’s been awhile since he’s been to any sports game.

 

And Namjoon finds himself absorbed by the match, captivated, spine curved so he’s leaning forward on the edge of the bench. Every time the crowd roars, Namjoon cheers with them, and every time Jackson has the ball, he smiles a little wider.

 

The match is exhilarating; fast paced and high-strung. Jackson is, unsurprisingly, just as loud as he is when he’s talking to Namjoon. He’s always light on his feet, hollering or laughing whenever a teammate makes a shot, slapping their shoulders and yelling out plays. But really, the reason Namjoon’s so zeroed in on Jackson is because Namjoon doesn’t know any of the other players. None. Seriously.

 

And yeah, Jackson might jump high, but his strafing has to be his point skill, or his specialty, or whatever they call it in sports. It’s how he steals the ball, almost faster than Namjoon’s eye can keep up, and then -- Namjoon realizes it’s fencing technique. It must not be cheating, though, because despite how the other players get frustrated to high hell when it works, cursing and rolling their eyes, nobody really does anything about it.

 

Going into the second half, it’s fifty to thirty in favor of the home team, and that’s when Jackson actually dials _down_ his volume. He’s got this really serious aura about him now, and whenever someone makes a shot, he only whistles or flashes a thumbs up rather than cheering aloud. Namjoon supposes this is his way of setting the mood for the game.

 

Which, it really is, because their team pretty much locks it down from there, pulling up with a hundred to sixty eight win. When the buzzer drones, the crowd erupts, and so, too, does Jackson’s enthusiasm. Namjoon doesn’t miss the way Jackson’s face lights up with his smile, eyes singing and sweat running down his forehead, along his neck, disappearing past the neckline of his jersey.

 

It’s difficult to see, with everyone getting up and off their seats, flooding out the door and onto the court, but Namjoon sees Jackson jumping up to bump some of his teammates at the chest. Namjoon never would have guessed he and the Jackson from five seconds ago were one and the same person, the switch from serious back to normal so sudden.

 

Namjoon bobs and weaves through the sea of people, trying to navigate his way over to a sweaty and victory-high Jackson. After some polite _excuse me_ ’s, he finally makes it Jackson, who’s occupied with someone who must be a teammate.

 

Jackson’s breathing hard, and his friend must have said some joke because Jackson’s throwing his head back and howling with laughter (god, how much sweat _is that?_ ). As soon as Namjoon is within earshot of Jackson, he realizes Jackson’s...uh, not speaking in English.

 

Jackson’s trying to catch his breath, wheezing from laughter, when he meets Namjoon’s gaze. There’s a certain shine to his eyes -- an overwhelming glint of euphoria, little supernovas of joy. It has Namjoon inhaling sharp, heart pumping a little faster. Suddenly, Namjoon isn’t so surprised at how easily Jackson had pitched the tone for the match.

 

“Hey!” Jackson nearly shouts, running his fingers through his very sweaty and very blonde bangs. “How was it? Get your heart racing?”

 

 _Yeah, it’s still racing right now_ , Namjoon nearly confesses, but he swallows the sentiment. “I can’t believe you use _fencing technique_ in _basketball_ ,” he says instead, squeezing the strap of his laptop bag.

 

Jackson quirks a brow, smiling splitting a little wider. “But it worked, right? And it worked good,” he says, completely serious.

 

At this, Jackson’s teammate groans, and mutters something that isn’t in English (again) toward Jackson. The guy turns his attention to Namjoon, then, and it clicks; he must be speaking...Mandarin?

 

“I mean -- sorry. You’re Namjoon, huh?” the guy says, wiping sweat from his face with his jersey. Now that Namjoon’s right up next to Namjoon, he sees how tall he is. It looks like it’s only an inch the guy has off of Namjoon, but still. Tall.

 

“Yeah. But I’m not sure -- ?” Namjoon affirms, but then pauses. He’s stuck between choosing to ask how he knows that and who’s asking.

 

Thankfully, Jackson answers at least one question. “Zitao. This is Zitao. Buddy and teammate,” he interrupts, patting Zitao on the shoulder, smiling proudly.

 

“He talks about you. A lot,” Zitao says, and that answers Namjoon’s other unsaid question.

 

This seems to strike something defensive in Jackson, who jumps to respond. “Well, duh, what’s not to talk about? He goes to our college, writes music, makes coffee. And! And, his roommate -- ”

 

“ -- Makes organic deluxe cupcakes that taste like heaven, I _got it,_ Jackson,” Zitao cuts in quickly, but he’s laughing when he says it. “Hey, I’m gonna head out early. I’ll see you later.” Zitao tosses a water bottle at Jackson before he turns and leaves. Over his shoulder, before he pushes into the crowd, he yells, “Remember! Five forty-five! You better not be late again! You know who’s going to beat your ass if you are!” And then he’s gone.

 

Namjoon looks back at Jackson, sees him rolling his eyes. But the grin is back in place as soon as he looks back at Namjoon. “I gotta leave. But like, not now. So, you wanna go buy something to eat? Or something to drink, because I’m thirsty as _fuck._ ” He enunciates his point by popping Zitao’s water bottle open and taking a swig.

 

So that’s how Namjoon gets himself back at the campus cafe, sipping on a strawberry smoothie while Jackson’s chugging his fourth water bottle.

 

“Is that...good for your health?” Namjoon looks uncertainly at Jackson, who isn’t slowing or ceasing in his H2O intake.

 

They’ve been talking -- again, it should be noted that it’s mostly Jackson doing the talking -- and it turns out that Zitao’s a friend from China (Namjoon asked who he was. He was kinda curious, and Jackson seemed open to the subject). Jackson lived out in Hong Kong and Beijing, albeit for only a brief four years, starting at the age of four, and ending at the age of eight, so that explains the Mandarin. And then everything derailed into a discussion about languages, and how Jackson studied French and Cantonese.

 

“I’m thirsty, okay? Let me do what I want,” Jackson scoffs, and proceeds to finish off his water bottle. “Also very hungry. Pass the bread, please.”

 

Namjoon slides him the basket with a breathy exhale. “When you’re running off to the bathroom, remember who’s the one that sent you.”

 

“Hydration never killed anyone. Except for like, that one person who lost that chugging dare. But that’s besides the point,” Jackson rips a bite out a bread roll (isn’t that going to make him thirstier?). After he swallows, he points at Namjoon. “And hey, you never said how the game was; you like it?”

 

Namjoon shrugs, palms upside. “I mean, it was one hundred to sixty-eight. I think that qualifies as likeable.” Okay, _yeah_ , Namjoon thinks it was way more than likeable, but it’s not like he’s going to be _that_ expressive to convey how much he thought Jackson was hot. At the game! Hot at the game! But also...hot...

 

That doesn’t seem to sate Jackson’s curiosity (but then, what would?) “C’mon, c’mon; _details._ What’d you think of the team? The plays?”

 

To be totally honest, Namjoon wasn’t paying attention to anyone _but_ Jackson (he was the only person Namjoon knew. Also, it’s difficult to not pay attention to someone that’s both good at sports and good at...looking good). But the new question is, is Namjoon really going to tell Jackson that?

 

“I mean, you do look kind of short next to everyone,” Namjoon clips, and he doesn’t even try to keep in his laughter when Jackson’s smile drops to a scowl. “I’m kidding; you’re not that short. But seriously, your strafing is cool. I’m gonna assume it’s legal in-game?”

 

Jackson’s lax attitude resumes, and he adjusts in his seat to swing one leg over the other lazily. “I pride myself on being multi-talented in multiple thing,” he says, smiling softly. “But yeah, I sorted it out with the refs a while back. It’s not cheating if you’re just better than the other team.”

 

Namjoon chooses not to think too hard about that first statement, and instead, decides to say, “I guess that means I did see some dance footwork in there. And...martial arts?”

 

Jackson pauses mid-bite. “Oh, so you really _were_ paying attention,” he hums. And then he has the fucking nerve to lean forward and say, in a low tone, “What else did you notice?”

 

“Your muscles,” Namjoon sputters, unable to block out the truth anymore. The instant the words ring in his ears, he feels his face heat up, and if Namjoon’s ever fucked up in his life before -- “Like, you’re fucking ripped.” _No! Noo no no, fuck, no!_ “H-How often do you work out? Or, uh, do you diet?” Namjoon redirects in desperation, mind racing, because _how the fuck did he fuck up like that_.

 

Jackson pauses, leans back in his seat and _goddamnit_ , of all the kinds of shirts Jackson could have changed into, why did it have to be a tank top? “Both, actually. I’ve learned to live with leafy greens and daily visits to the gym. You should try it! It’s a good routine,” Jackson says briskly. He slides his emptied bottle onto the table. He licks his lips then, as if he’s thinking about something, and starts to tug at his piercing.

 

“Speaking of which, after the game on Saturday, I’m gonna be free. So, I was wondering if you wanted to -- ”

 

“Jacks!” A yell interrupts Jackson, and _god_ is it so much to ask for privacy?

 

Namjoon looks around, searching for the source of the noise. It’s a guy on a motorbike, one that bears a striking resemblance to Jackson’s, but the guy riding it is too far to see, and there’s no light shining down on him. He can’t see who’s calling, even if they’re not wearing a helmet.

 

Jackson ducks his head when Namjoon turns his head to look back at him. He pulls his phone out of the pocket, and he gnaws on his lower lip. “Aw, shit. It’s five fifty,” he curses, but he doesn’t seem too bothered by whatever’s wrong. He puts his phone away. “I’m coming! Hold on, I’ll be over in a second,” he yells over his shoulder at the mystery biker. He stands, grabs a bread roll, and flashes a grin at Namjoon, but there’s something...off, to it. “Catch ya later.”

 

Namjoon feels a pang of disappointment, but smiles all the same. “Uh, sure. See you Friday?”

 

“For sure.” Jackson winks, before he turns on heel, making a swift exit.

 

Before Jackson leaves, Namjoon thinks he sees the other motorbiker leaning in close to Jackson once he’s seated on his bike, close enough for them to be...no, no, he’s just whispering something into Jackson’s ear. Probably.

 

As Namjoon gets into his car, opening his phone to see what Hoseok’s texted him this time, he hits the back of his head against his seat. “Fuck. Shit!” he curses. “I didn’t get his number.”

 

\--

 

Thursday, Hoseok drags Namjoon to the pier fairgrounds. It’s Namjoon’s manager’s birthday, and he let Namjoon off a lot earlier than what should be legal. Namjoon texted Hoseok he got off early, he must have waited all of two minutes in their apartment when Hoseok showed up at the front door.

 

Namjoon expected Hoseok to be in the mood for roller coasters and pendulum rides, so it was kind of surprising when Hoseok opted for just a pier walk and a couple of ferris wheel rides, rather than something adrenaline pumping.

 

“You said you couldn’t sleep, right? I’m not going to torture you with anything that goes faster than five miles an hour,” Hoseok says, when Namjoon asks, shrugging. Namjoon smiles weakly; it’s always nice whenever Hoseok tries to be helpful.

 

“Thanks,” Namjoon mumbles, maneuvering his way into the ferries wheel cabin. “How’s class going to for you?”

 

“Miserable,” Hoseok clips, so obviously distressed. “You’re not there, and I’m the only person left to take up all of Bang’s attention. You know how lonely that gets?”

 

“I’m well aware,” Namjoon says dryly.

 

Hoseok grins with too much glee to be healthy. “Anyways, class is actually going fine. I finished the first pieces for my mini-album; don’t think you’ve heard them yet. How’s your album going?”

 

“Miserable,” Namjoon mutters, ignoring the irony. He leans back into his seat as the ferris wheel begins its rotation “Writer’s block. It’s shitty. Real shitty.”

 

Thankfully, when it comes to writing music, Hoseok isn’t (that much of) a dick, and, in fact, he’s usually the one to pull Namjoon out of his writing slumps. Kind of like free writer’s insurance. “Aw, that blows. You have anything done?” Hoseok says, eyes glowing with sympathy.

 

“I don’t think twenty two percent of a draft counts as a song,” Namjoon says begrudgingly. His trashcan back at the apartment is stuffed to the brim, overflowing with notebook sheets, rejected rough drafts and all their glory.

 

“Wow,” Hoseok sniffs. “That does sound miserable.”

 

“I _know_ ,” Namjoon takes an angry sip from his icee. “The first piece is due in a week, and I’m kind of feeling royally fucked.”

 

Of course, that’s the wrong choice of words to use in Hoseok’s presence, because there’s one virgin in their ferris wheel cabin, and it’s _definitely_ not Hoseok.

 

Hoseok scrunches up his face with a grin. “That’s real cute, Joonie,” he says, but thankfully, doesn’t taunt him any further. Instead, he idly mixes his icee with his straw. “But then, I guess this -- ” he makes a broad, sweeping gesture to the fairgrounds, “ -- was a perfect idea! You need inspiration, right?”

 

Namjoon quirks his mouth to the side. “Already tried the scenic route. Twitter wasn’t too helpful, either,” he sighs, resting his chin against the heel of his palm. He did save those motorcycle pictures, though, but it’s mostly because they make him think about what life would be like if it was just a little different, and not so...normal.

 

“Not what I meant,” Hoseok shakes his head. Then, after taking a sip, “Don’t you want to talk? About anything. I’m all ears.” He leans back into his chair. “How about that guy I made cupcakes for? Uh, Jackson, was it? He sounds like a nice guy. I mean, from the way you talk about him. How was the game yesterday?”

 

“It was one cupcake,” Namjoon corrects, then frowns. “And Jackson’s… uh.” It’s not like there isn’t anything to talk about with Jackson -- it’s that there’s _everything_ to talk about. Fencing, basketball, martial arts, organic food, piercings, muscles -- where does Namjoon even start?

 

“He was point guard.” Namjoon decides that’s an adequate response, but when Hoseok raises his eyebrows, a gesture to coax a more descriptive answer from Namjoon, he sighs. “And he’s in a gang.”

 

It would be very comical of Hoseok to spit out what he was drinking, but Hoseok wasn’t drinking when Namjoon chose to share this information on Jackson. “Seriously?” is what he says, but it sounds more like he’s...impressed? Than horrified? “So, which one?”

 

“I...dunno?” Namjoon answers very uncertainly. He’s never thought to ask, and -- come to think of it, Jackson doesn’t even _know_ that _Namjoon knows_ about him being in a gang. Unless Jinyoung’s said anything to him.

 

“Well, duh, ask him then. You said he’s come in every Friday night, so, tomorrow, you should ask him,” Hoseok says matter-of-factly, as if it’s just a question everyone asks.

 

“Wh -- isn’t that, like...invasive?” Namjoon protests weakly. He doesn’t think Jackson would get too irritated over that particular question, but maybe that kind of thing is... _personal_ , and Namjoon has no idea what can of worms he’d be opening there. Either way, though, just knowing and talking to Jackson is like opening a million cans of worms a day (gross analogy, but it works).

 

“No,” Hoseok shrugs, and, uh.

 

“How would you know that?” Namjoon can’t help the question. But it’s just _weird_ \-- does Hoseok just happen to know a couple of gangs around the block? Is this the one thing in Hoseok’s life that Namjoon’s missing out on?

 

Hoseok folds his arms, cup in one hand. “I actually happen to know a guy just like your Jackson friend. You should know the extent of my social circle. That extent being infinite.”

 

Namjoon doesn’t whether to be surprised or not. Surprised, because Hoseok shares literally every single fucking detail about everything with Namjoon, and he never, _ever_ lies unless it’s to prank Namjoon (which is usually never, neither of them are _that_ low). Or not surprised, because Hoseok can and will make friends with every single person he so much as makes eye contact with.

 

“I’m sorry, but why am I hearing about this just now?” Namjoon almost squawks, incredulous.

 

“Because I literally just met him. Like, two months ago,” Hoseok shrugs, nonchalant. And Namjoon stares, because -- _what_ ? Doesn’t -- doesn’t Hoseok consider being involved with a gang to be at least a _little_ important, enough so that he wouldn’t keep it from Namjoon for _two months_? “Okay, okay, but enough about that -- I want to meet your Jackson. How about Friday night? You said that’s when he comes around…?”

 

“Sure,” Namjoon sighs, because god knows that when you combine two motormouths (read: Hoseok and Jackson) you will inevitably summon the end of all humanity. “Jackson comes by around six fifteen. So, uh, you can come by then?” (actually, Jackson comes around at _exactly_ six fifteen; at least, for both the times he has shown up).

 

“Great! I’ll bring food,” Hoseok beams. The ferris wheel ride is over by then, and Namjoon leaves with him, still feeling uninspired for his up-and-coming mini-album.

 

\--

 

“So did you get Jackson’s number?” Is the first thing that Jinyoung asks, right as Namjoon’s finished tying his apron.

 

“Why are you so -- ” Namjoon starts, but then thinks better of it. “No. I didn’t.”

 

The look Jinyoung gives to him (the usual one, it should be noted that it is the usual, disappointed, mother's tilt of the head and folded arms from Park Jinyoung the barista) matches the one that mothers use on children that ask to eat dessert before dinner.

 

“I’m sorry, okay? I was going to ask him, I swear I was, but he had to leave when I was gonna ask,” Namjoon says, rolling his eyes as exaggeratedly as possible. This is _his_ life. Why does Jinyoung care so much? “And why do you care?”

 

Jinyoung sniffs. “Nothing. You two just seem kinda -- ” Jinyoung pauses, like he’s looking for the most appropriate term, “ -- friendly, I guess. I’m just surprised. And also, it was _you_ that promised to get his number by today.”

 

“Yeah, because I was being pressured,” Namjoon mutters, half to himself.

 

“Whatever. You’d better have it after tonight, though,” Jinyoung says.

 

“Should I be concerned over the fact that you’re concerned over me getting his number?” Namjoon says questioningly, glancing at Jinyoung as he approaches the counter, about to take an order.

 

Jinyoung looks at the floor for a second, before looking back up at Namjoon. “You need more friends,” he says, and if they weren’t in the public workplace, Namjoon definitely would have strangled him.

 

\--

 

Namjoon’s taking an order when Jackson pulls in, the low growl of his bike rolling through the glass between them. Namjoon’s hand almost slips when Jackson pushes his way through the door, but he recovers, hastily telling his customer their drink will be finished shortly.

 

Jinyoung eyes Jackson as he’s nearing very hurriedly, but he seems to have made some silent conviction with himself, and doesn’t make a move to take his order. “Bathroom break,” he says, out of the blue, and eyes Namjoon with that intense look, as if he’s trying to tell Namjoon that he’d _better get Jackson’s goddamn number_.

 

Namjoon finishes his order as quick as he can, just a tall macchiato, nearly throwing into the recipient’s hands with a rushed, _have a nice day_. He doesn’t waste a second making his way back to the counter.

 

“Hey,” Namjoon greets, smiling bright.

 

“Hello, stranger,” Jackson grins back. His smile is just as pearly as it’s always been, but there’s a little strain to his voice, like he’s on edge, or in a hurry.

 

Namjoon doesn’t bother asking for his order, just enters it and scribbles his name onto his cup. “Hey, uh, my friend’s gonna swing by tonight, wanted to meet you. He’ll probably be here in a second,” he says, tapping his finger against the lip of the cup.

 

Jackson seems to loosen up at the sound of that, leaning onto the counter in his usual, casual manner. “I’m so flattered; am I really that popular?” he jests, canines revealing themselves as he begins to pull at his lip piercing (it’s a new one, again -- it looks almost like a spike).

 

 _I wouldn’t be surprised_ , Namjoon almost says, but catches himself, because -- _no_. “It’s my roommate. You two’ll probably love each other,” he clears his throat, grinning at the memory of the dancer. He’s dead sure that Hobi and Jackson are going to get along -- he wouldn’t be surprised if they exchanged numbers on the spot.

 

“Oh, cupcake man? Is he bringing more?” Jackson leans in a little closer. Namjoon’s too tired to tell him to _never refer to Hoseok as cupcake man ever again, please_.

 

“Yeah, dunno which kind, though,” Namjoon nods, taking Jackson’s money and slipping it away.

 

And when Namjoon has finished Jackson’s mocha, added extra _extra_ chocolate, and has slid it across the counter, he checks his phone because -- huh. Hoseok isn’t here yet. It’s only been about three minutes since six fifteen, so he all he thumbs in is a quick, ‘ _where are you_ ,’ before turning his attention back to Jackson. His gaze catches on Jackson’s mocha before reaching his eyes, and Namjoon realizes that he could have done that stupid, cliche, _thing_ where you write your number on your customer’s cup, followed by something else really cliche, but then decides that idea is kind of too much.

 

“You’ve got a game tomorrow, right?” Namjoon asks, right as Jackson takes a hard swig.

 

Jackson wipes at his mouth with his wrist, and Namjoon can’t help but wonder how the hell he doesn’t scratch the skin, because he has a _lip piercing_ \-- “Yep. You better be there,” Jackson winks. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on another win, would’ja?”

 

“Of course not,” Namjoon responds wryly, grinning wide. “Is it a home game, or…?”

 

“No, sadly. It’s at that one university with the giant wood sculpture. Y’know where it is, right?” Jackson very vaguely describes.

 

“Sure,” Namjoon decides to say. Really, though, it shouldn’t be _that_ difficult to find a campus fitting that description.

 

They end up talking about the different basketball teams across the state, most of which Jackson describes as _mostly adequate, but still fun to play against_. Namjoon’s never been a fan of basketball (or sports, for that matter) but a couple of the team names do seem kind of familiar.

 

About half an hour passes, just Jackson and Namjoon chatting over sports and then martial arts, and by then, Namjoon’s dismissed Hoseok’s tardiness as something caused by an emergency, and he finds he’s right, once he’s checked his phone.

 

_From ; Hobi ; 6:44_

_srry emergency came up at studio wont be able to make it :(_

 

_From ; Hobi ; 6:45_

_tell jackson i said hi tho!!!! :)_

 

Namjoon assumes that the ‘emergency’ is that some kid must have broken their tailbone, or pulled a muscle, and decides he can’t really be that upset.

 

“Hey, Hobi -- uh, Hoseok just texted me. Someone broke something at the studio, he’s not gonna be here tonight. He says hi, though,” Namjoon looks up to Jackson, who's finishing off his mocha.

 

Jackson shifts, leans against the counter with his other hip, but nods. He's making a half-grimace half-scowl expression, face scrunched up like he feels let down. “Shit, and I was looking forward to meeting your roomie,” he pouts, with those same stupid, _stupid_ adorable eyes. “He didn't break anything, did he? I mean, I've had fractures in my leg before. Hurts like hell. Oh, tell him I said hi, too.”

 

“No, don’t think so.” Namjoon double checks the text anyways, relays Jackson’s little _hi_.’ Hoseok would have had his younger friend, Soonyoung, text him instead, if he happened to be the one that had fucked up. Plus, Namjoon can usually tell if something’s up with Hoseok just through gut feeling (intuition; they’ve known each other for that long).

 

“Well, I pray that whoever was hurt has a swift recovery,” Jackson exhales breezily. He swipes his tongue over his lower lip, tapping his finger against his empty cup. He smiles fondly, like he's reminiscing on something, before he blinks up at Namjoon. “Oh, hey, I didn’t get to ask. You’re free after the game tomorrow, right?”

 

Namjoon nods, and -- hey, maybe now he’ll get Jackson’s number. “Yep. What’s up?”

 

Jackson runs a hand through his bangs, flashing an eager grin. “Sweet! You wanna go down to the village for a bite, or something, after the game? I’ll be free for the rest of day.”

 

With a smile like Jackson’s (and also his _eyes_ ), Namjoon thinks it would be damn near impossible to say deny him (which can only mean Bad Things™ for Namjoon in the future). He obliges without a second thought, nodding. “Yeah, sure. What time?”

 

Jackson frowns, thoughtful. “How does -- ”

 

“Jackson,” Jinyoung suddenly cuts in, sharp and urgent.

 

Namjoon’s about to whirl on him, tell him he was _this fucking close_ to getting Jackson’s number, but the look on Jinyoung’s face is...nervous. His lips are pulled tight in a thin line, eyes flickering from Namjoon to Jackson, and Namjoon gets that he means business.

 

Jinyoung jerks his thumb toward the window. “You’re being summoned,” he says, and his tone is almost...grim. Anxious, even.

 

Namjoon follows the motion, glancing outside, and finds that it’s a guy on a motorbike. It takes him a second, but he easily recognizes that it’s the same, helmetless guy from Wednesday night. He still can’t see his face, not from where he’s standing anyways, but he _knows_ that's the same biker.

 

When he looks back at Jackson, he’s rolling his eyes, muttering a clear, “Fuck me,” under his breath, and it’s pretty obvious something’s up. He meets Namjoon’s gaze, and his eyes are unusually wary. “Uh, raincheck on tomorrow. Come talk to me after the game, ‘kay?”

 

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, right as the sound of a motorcycle’s engine powering up tears through the store ( _Rude_? Who does this guy think he is?).

 

“I’ll see you, then,” Jackson smacks his lips, pushing off of the counter.

 

“See you then,” Namjoon echoes. As soon as the door shuts behind Jackson, who gives one last wave, Namjoon turns to Jinyoung. He’d love to chew him out for fucking up his opportunity to get Jackson’s number, but Jinyoung’s not looking at him. And...he also gets the feeling that the interruption isn’t really Jinyoung’s fault.

 

“Who was that guy?” Namjoon decides to ask. That guy’s called Jackson out _twice_ , now; Namjoon feels like he deserves to know.

 

Jinyoung visibly stiffens, as if hearing the question strikes something abhorrent within him. “A...friend, of Jackson’s,” he finally replies. He skirts around the word ‘friend’, as if he thinks it’s not really a fitting term.

 

Namjoon chances a glance outside, and both Jackson and his ‘friend’ are gone, the sound of their bikes roaring in the distance. Namjoon opens his mouth to ask for a better description, but wonders if that’s really the best idea. Jinyoung seemed shaken -- maybe Namjoon should save the rest of his questions for later.

 

\--

 

Namjoon is left to wonder who Jackson’s ‘friend’ was with Jackson’s early-ish absence. It’s sublimely quiet without Jackson, and Jinyoung hasn’t said a word since he’s left, and it’s starting to make Namjoon feel a little...nervous. In fact, Namjoon’s pretty sure the last thing he hears from him is his usual, _See you next week_ , but it’s only when he’s leaving, shift already finished.

 

He’s kinda miffed after the couple hours of silence, feeling oddly deprived, but then he remembers that Suga clocks in around ten thirty, and currently, his phone says…ten twenty two.

 

Conveniently, there’s a very short burst of customers, probably just a bunch of kids coming in from a party, or something, and he’s kept busy until his phone’s displaying a happy ten thirty. And as if on cue, when Namjoon looks up, Suga’s there, bike already pulled up. And everything looks about the same, Suga sporting the same jacket as last Friday, only…

 

There are two guys in his company.

 

Namjoon must look really dumb staring, but he’s just...surprised? That Suga’s not alone. If anything, he expected Jackson to show up with a friend or two long before Suga ever would. And that ‘ _friend_ ,’ does not count, in Namjoon’s humble opinion. Zitao doesn’t count, either, since he and Jackson were together outside the shop.

 

The two guys are practically glued together, the taller one, with charcoal hair and dark eyes, held by the shorter guy, with forest brown hair, right at the hip. They make it pretty obvious what they have going on between them.

 

When Suga makes eye contact with Namjoon, Namjoon flinches, before quickly steeling himself up. He’s got absolutely nothing to be nervous about (the words become hollow when he reminds himself that he’s going to be in the presence of a _producer_ , his _idol_ , and that Namjoon’s also purchased literally every song the man has even touched).

 

“Hey,” Namjoon says, trying his best not to steal away any stray looks at his companions. “What can I get you all tonight?”

 

“Tall citrus green tea frappuccino,” Suga recites coolly, already searching his pocket for

the money. As he looks down, the shorter of Suga’s two friends peeks right over his shoulder at Namjoon. He seems real energetic, bright, eyes glimmering with something warm, and his grin is downright fox-like.

 

“So you’re the new barista on the block,” said fox grin guy states observantly. His eyes drop down from Namjoon’s own, and he realizes he’s looking at his hands. “Suga hyung was right; you do have nice hands.”

 

And that’s -- an interesting compliment. Namjoon turns to Suga for an explanation, but Suga just rips his money from his pocket and shoves his hand forward. “He’ll be having a grande two caramel shot espresso,” he says, almost a growl. He looks absolutely livid, eyes cold, lidded.

 

Fox grin guy grins. “Aw, thanks,” he says, but Suga just flat out ignores him, facing front.

 

The third friend, the guy with black hair speaks up from behind the both of them. “Grande hot chocolate,” he says, before the fox grin guy hooks an arm around his waist, reeling him back close.

 

Namjoon nods, adds it all to Suga’s order. When he’s got his hands on a cup, he eyes Suga questioningly. “You want that all under your name or…?”

 

“Yeah,” Suga says instantly, which incites a whine from his fox-grinned companion.

 

“Hey, we exist too, y’know,” he complains, and Namjoon can tell he’s doing it all just to get a rise out of Suga. It’s (kind of) working, Namjoon can tell, because Suga clenches his jaw just for a split second. He doesn’t respond to him in any other way, though, just continues to face front.

 

“Okay, I’ll be done in a sec,” Namjoon says, smiling. The dynamic the three of them have is amusing to see, but evidently, Suga is not amused by any of it himself. Namjoon decides that it’s probably best to keep in his laughter.

 

“Thanks,” Suga mutters, and he leaves his friends in the dust, making a straight line toward the take-out counter without waiting a single second.

 

“Thanks!” fox grin guy says excitedly, at the exact same moment his partner says thanks in a softer tone. They make their way over to Suga, and Namjoon almost laughs when he sees Suga take a step further away without even looking up from his phone.

 

As Namjoon’s starting up the espresso, he can hear Suga and the fox grin guy talking.

 

“So nice of you to pay; you know, you really didn’t have to,” the not-Suga guy says, and Namjoon can practically see him all up in Suga’s face, smirking wide.

 

“Yeah, I know, which is why you’re paying for your own shit for the next month,” Suga grits out, obviously irked.

 

“So cruel. What have I ever done to deserve this?” comes the reply, thick with faux hurt.

 

“You existed,” Suga responds flatly.

 

“Y’know, you really didn’t seem that upset paying for everything,” Namjoon hears the other other, taller guy muse. Namjoon thinks he hears fox grin guy make a soft cooing noise, as if to mock Suga.

 

“Go fuck yourselves. Or go make out. I’d rather bail out a fine for PDA than for your exhibitionism shit,” Suga growls, authoritative, tone leaving no room for disobedience. Kind of -- nah, _really_ attractive, if Namjoon stopped and thought about it. “Go. Before I decide to file a fine for you myself.”

 

“Love you, too,” is the unfazed response from fox grin guy, and Namjoon suddenly hears the distinct sound of footsteps across the tile of the store. He steals a glimpse over his shoulder as he fills up the tall guy’s hot chocolate, and _\--_ yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have done that.

 

Tall guy is seated at one of the tables near the window, not the same one that Suga normally sits at, and shorter, foxy guy is sitting on his thigh. _Facing him._ Taller guy’s hands are wandering the small of his back, and Namjoon whips his head back face front so hard he feels whiplash.

 

With some rare luck, Namjoon manages to not over-fill the hot chocolate (it definitely would _not_ have been a first), and finishes off the rest of the orders. When he pops the lid onto Suga’s frappuccino, he pauses, looking up to see what Suga’s doing. He’s on his phone, just like his prior visits, but he’s standing significantly closer to the take-out counter than usual. Also, he’s not listening to music.

 

And, because he really can’t help himself, Namjoon checks up on what his two friends are doing and -- oh. Oh. They’re just cuddling. No grabby hands, no kissy faces -- not even any actual kissing. The shorter guy is just snuggled up real close to the other guy, and they’re exchanging little murmurs that Namjoon’s probably thankfully too far away to catch.

 

Namjoon takes up all the stuff he’s just made, brings it up to the counter. Suga shuts his phone off before Namjoon can even call the orders out, and before he takes a step forward, he makes eye contact with Namjoon. And, granted, Namjoon feels like he should be pretty comfortable with Suga -- but when he notices how his eyes are, like, a few hues darker than his own, he realizes he’s stopped breathing.

 

“So -- um, they your friends?” Namjoon regains control of himself as quickly as possible, and actually, he meant to ask if they were a part of his gang, but then he realizes that he doesn’t know if Suga himself even is in a gang (the jacket, the bike, and the attitude _sort of_ suggests he is, but Namjoon is definitely not a gang expert).

 

Suga’s reaching out to take the drinks, and the look that colors his face would be terrifying if it didn’t suit him so well (as in, suit the situation -- that of which features his two friends, and their borderline making out). “If the definition of ‘friends’ is fucking assholes,” Suga clips, flat, taking the espresso and hot chocolate with two hands. “Then yes, they’re my friends.”

 

“Love you too, hyung!” fox grin guy shouts very loudly this time. Suga narrows his eyes, but again, says nothing.

 

Suga leaves Namjoon at the counter, and he practically slams the two cups down onto his friend’s table, muttering something like, “You fucking owe me,” and Namjoon realizes that he’s left his own frappuccino at the counter. Namjoon’s about to call out and let Suga know, when he looks up and sees he’s already heading back.

 

As Suga’s taking up his own beverage, he suddenly hesitates, stopping and looking off into space as if he’s coming up with ten different ways to murder someone. Namjoon starts worrying that he’s done something wrong, because now Suga’s looking him _directly in the eye_ , and the intensity of his look isn’t going down.

 

“Your shift’s done at eleven,” Suga states after what feels like ten years, and it takes a second for Namjoon to feel how fast his heart is beating.

 

“Y -- yeah, why?” Namjoon swallows, and suddenly, he feels the urge to check his phone for the time.

 

Suga takes an idle sip from his frappuccino. “Hm,” he hums, and that isn’t quite the answer Namjoon was looking for. “Just checking.”

 

And then it clicks: Suga must not want to be alone with his two kissy-kissy friends for a whole half an hour. That, or Suga maybe might be trying to just flat out ask Namjoon if he’d like to sit and talk with him? Maybe?.

 

“Actually, I can get off early,” Namjoon amends thoughtlessly, right as Suga’s starting to turn away. Suga looks up from his drink, and there’s something in his eye that almost looks...happy? Or maybe Namjoon’s mistaking that for surprise. “Uh, wait, let me make sure I won’t get fired for leaving half an hour early.”

 

Thank god, Wooyoung isn’t an asshole, and he lets Namjoon off with just a tender “Make sure you’re taking lots of naps,” and Namjoon is out of that kitchen faster than lightning can strike a tree.

 

When he ducks out of the counter, he glances warily at Wooyoung, before striding over to where Suga’s sitting. Namjoon didn’t lie to Wooyoung; he’s genuinely tired. But, like the Friday before, that’s not the reason why he wanted out early.

 

Pointedly, Suga is sitting in the seat furthest from his two friends, both of whom are still wrapped up in each other like there’s no fucking tomorrow (pun intended?), and he’s also very pointedly facing the direction away from them. The guy with the foxy grin is giggling on about something, and the other guy’s whispering really close to his ear and Namjoon would definitely not be opposed to telling them that’s _so fucking cute_ but. Suga’s also sitting right there. In front of Namjoon.

 

Namjoon drags a chair to the spot across from Suga, dropping himself and his laptop bag down. He keeps his eyes on Suga, blocking out the sight and sound of his two friends.

 

“You didn’t bring earbuds,” Namjoon says, and _way to fucking go_ , Namjoon should get the award for _Coming up with the best conversation starters_ . How the _hell_ does Jackson do this so easily?

 

Suga pockets his phone, heaving a sigh. “No. But I wish I did,” he says, and it’s not difficult to tell what he’s getting at. And Namjoon nearly exhales with relief, because...it doesn’t look like Suga’s too upset with Namjoon sitting down at his table and talking to him.

 

Namjoon’s about to laugh, kind of wants to tell Suga to cheer up, because how can someone think that’s _not_ cute, when he hears a real...um. Weird. Noise.

 

Out of politeness, Namjoon doesn’t turn around, and also a part of him fears that Suga’s gonna peg him as a pervert if he does. Suga doesn’t look over to see what’s going on (it’s obvious what is), but looks like he wants to fucking _die_ right on the spot. And by _die_ , Namjoon means ‘kill someone and bury the body six feet under.’

 

“You were saying?” Suga exhales, and like Namjoon, appears to be doing his best to ignore the ‘situation’ at the next table over.

 

“Oh. I was going to tell you that…” Namjoon licks his lips. He wasn’t really going to say anything, not anything that would make Suga’s night any better. He desperately picks around his head for something intelligent to ask or say, something that’s gonna incite a whole response from Suga, and then he remembers -- “I’m, uh, working on a project for my music class.”

 

Suga quirks an eyebrow. He makes a vague ‘go on’ gesture. “And?” he says, and _fuck yes_ he looks interested in what Namjoon has to say.

 

“And I was wondering if you...uh,” Namjoon swallows hard. _Fuck_ \-- he’s about to ask one of the most talented, well-known producers in the world to help him out with a goddamn _college project_ . “Wanted,” he clears his throat, “If you...maybe...wanted to…” Namjoon sighs -- _fuck it_. “I have writer’s block and my first song’s due this Monday.”

 

Suga blinks, and Namjoon is screaming silently, _please say something that isn’t_ good luck _or_ sucks for you; _I am literally dying on the inside._ And just as Suga opens his mouth, Namjoon hears another sound. Only it’s louder. And definitely more sensual. It’s a fucking _moan._

 

Already, Namjoon can feel his face warming exponentially, and he has no idea what he’s supposed to say, if he’s supposed to ignore that, or comment on it, or ask Suga if this is appropriate or normal or --

 

“Jimin. Jungkook,” Suga says warningly. “Shut the fuck up.” He sounds so commanding, so irate that Namjoon almost shrinks. Namjoon is so tempted to look over Suga’s shoulder, maybe see what exactly’s going on, but doesn’t dare with the look of utter loathing Suga’s wearing.

 

Namjoon hears loud laughter from behind Suga, and he’s not sure which one -- Jimin or Jungkook -- responds first.

 

“We’re not doing anything,” Namjoon thinks that’s the shorter guy talking.

 

“We’re not doing anything you told us not to do,” the other guy adds.

 

And, if they really are making out, Namjoon would shrug and say, _Well, shit, they’ve got a point_ , but Suga does _not_ seem like the kind of person he wants to sass. Especially not when Namjoon kind of really wants help with his album.

 

“Necking and making out are two different fucking things,” Suga spits, and then he’s on his feet. Namjoon’s afraid he’s gonna go bust their asses, because he looks fully capable of doing so, but he just pulls his phone out. And then, he’s...handing it to Namjoon?

 

“I’m free tomorrow in the afternoon. I can pick you up and bring you to my studio to look over your album,” Suga is suddenly saying, looking down at Namjoon. Namjoon looks down at Suga’s phone, it’s a blank contact. Suga wants his number.

 

 _Suga wants his number_.

 

Very carefully, so as to mask his inner hyperventilation, he takes Suga’s phone in his hand, and enters his phone number. Once he’s finished, name typed out, he checks it five times over, because there’s no fucking _way_ that he’s putting in the wrong number. This is the producer, _Suga,_ asking _Kim Namjoon_ for his _phone number_. Talk about a one in a billion chance.

 

“Er, is it okay if I get your number...too?” Namjoon swallows as he hands Suga his phone back, and he really hopes Suga doesn’t notice how much his hand, his arm, his entire _body_ is shaking.

 

Suga blinks. “Sure. Here.” Suga puts his drink down, and holds his palm out to Namjoon, and Namjoon can’t fucking believe that he’s about to get _Min Suga’s phone number, what the fuck_.

 

Namjoon takes his phone out and almost throws it in the fucking air, because _holy shit_ this is real, this is so _real_. After he unlocks it and sets up a new contact, he places it in Suga’s hand, barely able to contain himself. As Namjoon watches Suga dial in his number, he wonders if this is how Hoseok feels whenever he goes on tours, meets all these really cool dance celebrities.

 

“Here.” Suga passes Namjoon’s phone back. “Five is when I’m open. Just call me. Or text, if you prefer that.”

 

 _Just call me_ , plays on a loop, over and over, in Suga’s voice. Namjoon feels light headed, struggling to put his phone back into his pocket, and he nods. “Y-yep. Five. In the afternoon. Sounds great. I’ll be there. I mean, I’ll -- call,” he stutters. “Thank you? For, uh -- ” giving me your cell number, _I have your cell number_ , “ -- helping me out.”

 

It takes just a second, just _one second,_ but Suga gets that same expression he had when Namjoon first told him he was into his writing -- where his mouth opens just the slightest bit and his eyes get that sort-of impressed look, and then. He smiles.

 

And, hey -- now that Namjoon has gotten to know Suga better (at least, _he_ thinks so), it looks a million times worse. And when Namjoon says worse, he means it makes him want to jump off a cliff and swim all the way to fucking Atlantis, because _holy fucking shit_ . If he keeps smiling like that at Namjoon, there are going to be Very Bad Things™  in store for the future. _Very_ Bad.

 

Namjoon’s in the middle of trying to memorize the image in his head, make it a permanent picture imprinted on his fucking brain, when he hears a very loud, very obnoxious, and very, _very_ unwanted moan behind him.

 

And there goes that smile.

 

“Park Jimin, get your fucking ass over here right now,” Suga spits, and god, where did that smile go? _Where_?

 

Namjoon’s eyes follow Suga as he speed walks over to his (alleged) friends, and he sees the short guy leap off of the other’s lap, and -- yeah. Yeah. Those are hickies. On his neck. He must be  Park Jimin.

 

“I’m so afraid,” Jimin swoons, and he’s holding onto the other guy’s hand -- he must be Jungkook. And then Jimin tugs on Jungkook’s hand. “Run! Lest our wallets suffer punishment!”

 

“Yeah, like your wallet is the only thing that’s gonna suffer when I’m done with you,” Suga is nearly lunging for them, and Jimin’s racing out the door with Jungkook in hand.

 

“So kinky; you know we’re not all about that life,” Jungkook sticks his tongue out before the door closes.

 

The sound of the door slamming shut chimes through the store, and it’s just Namjoon now. No, wait, it’s not just Namjoon. It’s Namjoon and _Suga’s goddamn number in his phone,_ hell _yes_. He’s feeling dazed, maybe a little stricken, and all he can do is stare at the glass doors, even with Suga and his two friends already gone.

 

When Namjoon collapses on his bed at the apartment, he dozes off with Hello Bitches blasting in his ears, and all he can think about is that fact that he’s gonna have a one on one with Suga. Tomorrow. At five.

 

\--

 

Namjoon wakes up exactly how he did not want to: drool on the collar of his shirt, and drool on his bed sheets. Gross.

 

He doesn’t hear Hoseok’s snoring, and that’s what saves him from any, _Oh shit, I’m missing class_ moments, because Hoseok always has dance practice on weekend mornings. Namjoon prays it’s eight, or something, but it turns out he’s slept in until eleven. Shit.

 

And then he remembers two things:

 

One: He’s got a one on one with Suga today. Where he calls him. And asks him to pick him up. And take him to his studio.

 

Two: Jackson’s got a game today.

 

 _Shit_ , Jackson’s got a game today and Namjoon _doesn’t fucking know when it is._

 

He claws around his bed for his phone, unlocks it once it’s in his hands, and panic sets into his stomach as he scrolls through his contact list, because _where the fuck is Jackson’s number._ There’s Suga’s number, which Namjoon may or may not have named MY LIFE in all caps, surrounded by music note emojis. But there’s no Jackson, and now Namjoon realizes he doesn’t even fucking know where the game is going to be (“The one university with the giant wooden sculpture,” Jackson had very helpfully said. Yeah, that helps).

 

Namjoon tugs at his bangs; what if he’s missing the game right now? What if Jackson thinks he ditched him, or forgot about him?

 

As he simmers in his own chaotic debate, lightning finally strikes, and he sits upright on his bed. He could text Jinyoung!

 

Or -- okay, wait just a second. Maybe that isn’t such a brilliant idea, though. Jinyoung may be a Really Nice Guy On Occasion™, but Jinyoung is also the same guy that a) is pressuring him into getting Jackson’s number but b) at the same time seems to think it’s a bad idea? To get to know Jackson? And Namjoon has no clue how he’ll react with Namjoon texting him at eleven o’ five in the morning, _hey, I need Jackson’s number literally right now pls help me_.

 

Namjoon finally decides there’s really no other way to find out when the game is, and as he’s typing out his text, he finally finds a loophole way to find out when the game is without risking any judging from Jinyoung. The only cost is that Namjoon’s probably not going to get Jackson’s number, unless Jinyoung takes pity on him and just gives it to him. After looking over the text five times, he hits send.

 

_To ; Jinyoung ; 11:11_

_hey have you ever been to any of jackson’s basketball games_

 

It seems casual enough (that’s a lie just to comfort Namjoon; Namjoon is praying to god that Jinyoung doesn’t try to look into it too far). To prepare himself for any interrogation, Namjoon occupies himself by getting dressed and making a breakfast of two cinnamon pop tarts and orange juice. He checks his phone when he hears a notification, but of course, it’s (thankfully) not Jinyoung.

 

It’s just the usual couple of morning snapchats from Hoseok; selcas with his dance team captioned with assorted emojis. He picks through the many smiles and freestyle videos, and eventually he finds his good morning message.

 

It’s the usual peace sign in the mirror accompanied by a friendly message, and after Namjoon’s done, he gets another snapchat.

 

“ _morning!! cupcakes r in the fridge <3 _”

 

Followed by another two reading:

 

“ _theyre not the ones from yesterday lol_ ”

 

“ _gave those to the guy that sprained his ankle_ ”

 

And then, finally:

 

“ _but theyre mint & strbry!! so u shld still eat them w some1 _”

 

Namjoon puts his phone down on the table and swings the fridge open to check. There’s one strawberry cupcake and one mint; both are decorated with little candy hearts. He closes the fridge, when he hears his phone ring, and before he picks his phone up, he lifts his chin and prays that if that’s really Jinyoung that’s just texted him, it’s not a lead in to a half-an-hour thread of questioning.

 

He squints at the text, and yep, it’s Jinyoung.

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 11:17_

_Yes_

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 11:17_

_Why_

 

Namjoon exhales in relief; thank god all he texted was two words. Now he’s just got to avoid further questioning.

 

_To ; Jinyoung ; 11:17_

_theres a game today but idk what time his saturday games are. do you know when they are_

 

Namjoon sinks into his chair, flipping through his twitter as he waits for a response. He wonders if he should just text in, _university with giant wooden sculpture_ , but that thought gets interrupted when he gets another text from Jinyoung.

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 11:18_

_So you didn’t get his number_

 

And? What? The _fuck_ ? Of _course_ Namjoon didn’t get his fucking number, because Park _Junior_ fucking interrupted their conversation.

 

Namjoon runs a hand through his hair once, breathing in and out. He can’t yell at Jinyoung; not through text, and definitely not face to face (and also, it really isn’t Jinyoung’s fault that Namjoon didn’t get Jackson’s phone number; it was that...one guy’s fault). Rigidly, he types in what he thinks is a civil response.

 

_To ; Jinyoung ; 11:18_

_no he left literally right when i was going to ask_

 

_To ; Jinyoung ; 11:18_

_so do u know when the game is bc i told him id be there and i dont want to be a dick_

 

Namjoon’s seething (because the _nerve_ of this guy) while he waits for Jinyoung to respond, tapping his foot against the leg of the table. His phone chimes, and _thank god_ it’s just a simple answer.

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 11:19_

_Warm up starts at 2:15; game starts at 2:30_

 

Very quickly, Namjoon keys in a curt _thx_ before he chucks his phone onto his bed. If he does his math right, and he knows he does, he’ll have about…fifteen minutes between game time and time with Suga.

 

Time with Suga.

 

Shit; Namjoon doesn’t have _anything_ written for his album (except for those excuses for rough drafts).

 

He leaps over to his desk and flips through his beaten-up notebook, looking frantically for anything that doesn’t look completely pitiful. There’s a draft titled Do You and one called Monster, but both of those are really just self-indulgent pieces of shit that Namjoon jotted down at three in the morning.

 

After careful scrutiny, he decides that Blanket Kick isn’t too bad of a song. It’s not the longest draft that he’s got, but reading over the notes scribbling off to the side, the overarching theme of the song doesn’t sound too awful (oh, god, but what will _Suga_ think?).

 

He gets about half-way done with the piece until he (willingly) passes out, right at his desk.

 

After about hour nap, he blinks his eyes open, and thank god, his notebook is drool-free. As he’s rubbing his eyes and turning his phone on to check the time, he discovers that Jinyoung’s texted him, or -- _has_ been texting him. For the past two hours.

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 11:20_

_Do you know where the game even is?_

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 11:30_

_?_

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 11:39_

_I’m eating lunch with a friend right now, please don’t make me call you_

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 11:48_

_Namjoon_

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 11:56_

_Did you fall asleep_

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 11:59_

_I’m going to take that as a yes_

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 12:20_

_Namjoon_

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 12:25_

_I can ask him if that’s what you need_

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 12:50_

_Or I can just give you his number_

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 1:17_

_Seriously Namjoon_

 

And Namjoon almost yells, because how the _fuck_ did he forget to ask where the game was (granted, he probably could have googled it, but someone cut that thought short)? At the speed of light he types in a reply, because _shit_ it’s one forty, and he doesn’t know how far away this university is.

 

_To ; Jinyoung ; 1:40_

_fxvk sorry i feel asleep yea idk where it is_

 

_To ; Jinyoung ; 1:40_

_would you by any chance know where the university with the giant wooden sculpture is_

 

Namjoon’s running around his apartment (Hoseok’s gonna be back soon; he’s probably gonna wonder where Namjoon went), and after he successfully retrieves his laptop bag, takes the two cupcake boxes from the fridge and shoves them to the bottom of the bag. His phone buzzes right when he gets back to his desk.

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 1:44_

_Evergreen; it’s the one on Cedar Street_

 

And then Jinyoung’s nice enough to send him a google maps guide, as well as a heads up that it’s only a fifteen-twenty minute drive from where he lives.

 

_To ; Jinyoung ; 1:45_

_thanks_

 

_To ; Jinyoung ; 1:46_

_sorry for falling asleep on you_

 

Namjoon’s heading out the door when Jinyoung sends him what hopefully is just one last text, a goodbye or something, but of course, it’s not.

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 1:47_

_No problem_

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 1:48_

_So do you want Jackson’s number_

 

_From ; Jinyoung ; 1:48_

_Because I have it_

 

Namjoon almost, _almost_ throws his phone onto the ground, but his Ryan the Lion phone case if precious, and there’s no _way_ he’s scratching it up over _this_. Does Namjoon want Jackson’s number? Yes. Is this the way he imagined he’d be getting it? No.

 

_To ; Jinyoung ; 1:49_

_yea sure_

 

And Namjoon isn’t going to admit how fast he put Jackson’s number into his contact list, because _holy shit it’s done and now Jinyoung will never ask about it again._

 

\--

 

The university campus is really spacious, Namjoon notices, once he’s stepped out of his car, but that’s kind of good, because it makes the gym’s easy to spot.

 

When he arrives at the entrance, he suddenly freezes, because will Jackson’s password still work if it’s an away game? He did bring his wallet, but he doesn’t remember how much cash he has in it.

 

Namjoon doesn’t have time to check, because he’s already at the front of the line, and the usher is holding her hand out for the money. Namjoon chooses to, yet again, throw his pride away, and mumbles Jackson’s stupid ass password.

 

Thankfully, the usher doesn’t look at him like he’s a kindergartener showing up to a college lecture, but she does make an ‘o’ shape with her mouth, like she’s surprised.

 

“Another one, huh?” she says, and at least she’s smiling so Namjoon doesn’t feel totally uncomfortable. And then he blinks; isn’t that kind of what the other usher told Namjoon? Something about Namjoon not looking like he’s a part of the usual crew, or whatever.

 

“I...guess so?” Namjoon shrugs, and prays that by _another one_ , she means _another friend_ , but he doesn’t wait to ask, because it’s two-o’-three, and warm ups are probably starting soon.

 

The gym’s a lot bigger than the home one, but it’s just as easy as it was before to pick out Jackson. Wild, platinum blonde hair, and a lot of shouting direct Namjoon’s gaze to the man, who’s currently spinning a basketball atop his index finger.

 

Namjoon steals another front row seat, this time in the middle (there’s no room near the stairs), and contents himself with watching Jackson practice lay-ups and free throws. He sees Zitao, too, real tall and lanky as he practices what must be suicides.

 

And then the game’s starting up, and Namjoon’s eyeing Jackson as he makes his way over to his starting position, kind of admiring how nice his shoulders look with his basketball jersey.

 

It doesn’t take very long for Jackson’s team to pull ahead with a lead, a twenty point gap after just ten minutes. Jackson's loud, like always, and if Namjoon thinks about it, he actually seems a little louder than before. Especially when he dunks, or waves his arms like a bird, trying to get a teammate’s attention.

 

Like just now, when Jackson manages a dunk, even with two players at his sides. He lets off a cheer that sounds vaguely like an ambulance siren, yelling “Nailed it!”. Of course, that means the crowd yells, and that means that Namjoon yells, too.

 

And that’s also the moment where Namjoon notices a small group of other, not so loud spectators. It’s a group of guys loosely grouped up on the other side of the gym. Some of them are leaned over, elbows planted on their thighs, like they don’t give a fuck about the game at all. In fact, they don’t react to any of the plays, and they stick out like black sheep whenever someone scores, sitting like statues whenever the crowd around them roars to life.

 

Except, one of the guys does look interested in the game. It’s the guy with dark blonde hair, snug in a soft-looking knit-jacket, pastel blue jeans, and are those timberlands? But beyond his interesting fashion sense, Namjoon notices he looks like he’s staring at someone. Namjoon tries to pinpoint who he’s looking at when he realizes he’s looking right at…

 

Jackson.

 

The guy’s constantly following Jackson across the court with his eyes (kind of creepy, if Namjoon thinks about it. He may stare at Jackson sometimes, but not like... _that_ ), and it’s really not difficult to tell he’s more interested in Jackson than the game. In fact, Namjoon glances over to look at the guy everytime Jackson scores a point, and the guy actually _licks his lips_ as soon as the ball’s in the net.

 

At some point, Namjoon almost feels like throwing up watching this guy’s reactions to Jackson’s every move, and he decides to ignore him. Every time his eyes start to flicker over to the group of silent onlookers, he forces himself to look back at the other silent spectators, because at least _they’re_ not trying to undress Jackson with their eyes.

 

Eventually, Namjoon forgets about the blonde drooling over Jackson in favor of paying attention to Jackson’s strafing. Namjoon’s starting to get into the game when the clock’s ticking close to the end, on the edge of his seat, even if the point difference is too big for the home team to overcome, and he smiles, proud, when Jackson makes a nice free throw shot.

 

He’s watching Jackson (like a _normal_ person would) make his way across the court, when he makes the mistake of making eye contact with weirdo blondie. Blondie’s looking straight at Namjoon, and he’s definitely not giving _him_ bedroom eyes.

 

But then, Namjoon isn’t even really sure how the guy’s looking at him. His chin is kind of tucked low, but it’s not like he’s leering at Namjoon. It’s almost like he’s...challenging Namjoon? Although to what, Namjoon wouldn’t know.

 

Namjoon pries his eyes away at last, because holy fuck, that was weird. He doesn’t let himself check if the guy’s looking at him still, but the distinct sensation of being watched lingers on Namjoon’s skin.

 

It stays like that for the rest of the game; Blondie’s watching _Namjoon_ now instead of Jackson. Again, not with any sexual hunger, he’s just... _watching_ Namjoon. It’s like a predatory kind of glare, and Namjoon is not feeling anything heartwarming from it.

 

Namjoon breathes in relief when the buzzer drones, and the stands start to empty out. With so much movement, Namjoon can’t see Blondie and he’s not planning on doing so anytime so. He starts making his way over to where he thinks he last saw Jackson (Namjoon might be tall, but Jackson is short, and there are lots of other tall people).

 

He finally sees Jackson, bright platinum blonde bangs matching the color of his smile. Namjoon kind of gets caught up in himself as Jackson starts laughing, giggling in Mandarin again as he punches Zitao in the arm. He looks happy, and Namjoon suddenly feels a lot happier himself, just watching him (is that his own heart that’s beating so hard right now?).

 

Namjoon’s just about to call out to him, tell him how hilarious it was that he had to re-tie his shoes five times in the first half alone, when he sees a flash of pearly pink slide right up next to Jackson, and -- wait a second, Namjoon recognizes that fabric.

 

It’s _Blondie_ ; the one that was not-so-subtly, _shamelessly_ ogling Jackson, and god fucking dammit, the guy’s doing it again, _right in fucking front of Jackson’s face._ Either Jackson doesn’t notice he’s currently being checked out, or he doesn’t care; Namjoon figures it’s probably the former when Jackson says something in Mandarin to Blondie without so much as batting an eye.

 

Namjoon just kind of stands there, cluelessly watching Blondie chat up Jackson in Mandarin. He kind of wants to say hi to Jackson, but at the same time, he isn’t all that interested in being so close to bed-room-eyes boy. And even if Namjoon did drop by to greet Jackson, he doesn’t know if he’d be welcome by Blondie; he still feels the weird after-sensation of the guy glowering at him.

 

Namjoon’s taking a step forward, because he might as well just get it over with, when he stops in his tracks. Blondie has his hand on Jackson’s, rubbing circles over his wrist, and he’s crooning something quiet to Jackson. Along with disgust, Namjoon feels something chemical ignite in the pit of his stomach, watching the guy’s fingers squeeze Jackson’s.

 

And Blondie must have said something that puts Jackson off, because his face falls in an instant, and he’s frowning as he replies to Blondie in quick Mandarin. He doesn’t make any move to shake Blondie off of him, but Namjoon thinks he sees him clench his fist.

 

Blondie sticks his lower lip out, then, like he’s pouting, and even if he’s trying to imitate a dying deer, Namjoon can still easily see how longingly he’s staring at Jackson.

 

And then, Jackson sighs, looks down at his feet, and nods. Blondie smiles, wide, white, and creepy, and he moves closer to sling an arm around Jackson’s shoulder. He gets real close to Jackson, says something in his ear, and then --

 

He looks right at Namjoon.

 

Okay, there’s _no way_ that’s not a challenging glare. The guy rolls his fucking lower lip under his teeth, whispering to Jackson, and he doesn’t look away from Namjoon for a single second. In fact, he leans closer to Jackson, and if that isn’t a taunt, then Kim Namjoon does not have an IQ of one hundred and forty nine.

 

Jackson actually looks up at Blondie, then, with some doubtful look Namjoon’s never seen him wear (it looks weird; Jackson’s the kind of person who should never look so...down). He bites down on his lip, like he’s frustrated, and as he starts to say something, Blondie interrupts him and put a fucking finger right over Jackson’s mouth.

 

Blondie tilts his head to the side, looking at Jackson at an angle, and he says one last thing before Jackson closes his eyes and nods.

 

And then, before Namjoon can really even blink, Jackson’s leaving. With Blondie. Right into the crowd and out of sight. The last thing Namjoon catches from either of them is one final look Blondie casts his way, and Namjoon’s never felt so ready to punch something, but also so confused, at the same time.

 

Because didn’t Jackson say he wanted to talk about after-game plans?

 

But Namjoon doesn’t get to ask questions, because pretty soon he’s left with just a couple other people in the gym.

 

His irritation regresses into a feeling of glumness, because he was kind of looking forward to talking to Jackson, even just saying a quick greeting, but then he remembers that he also told Suga he’d be ready for help at five. And currently, it’s four forty six.

 

He opens up his phone, scrolling through his contacts, and he finds his thumb hovering over Jackson’s number. He could text and ask him where he went, ask him if he wanted to hang out some other time. But then images of Blondie start running through his head and there’s no fucking _way_ he’d be able to stand being around someone like him.

 

When he gets outside, he finally decides that calling Suga’s probably the best idea -- he was the one that gave Namjoon the time, and also he’s one of the best producers in the world.

 

He barely even registers the sound of his phone ringing, still semi-seething over the way Blondie was eyeing Jackson -- and then Suga’s voice, velvety and familiar, is filtering through the speaker.

 

“ _Namjoon?_ ” comes his voice, and suddenly Namjoon’s throat is going very dry, and his mind is feeling very blank. He clears his throat, trying to redirect all of his energy into not sounding like a total fucking idiot.

 

“Uh, yep,” Namjoon says, and great going! Real great! He sounds just great. _Great._ “You said that five was when you’d be good, right? I mean, good to write. Er, look over my...stuff.”

 

“ _Yeah,”_ Suga says back. “ _Why? Something come up?_ ”

 

“No,” Namjoon says, almost too quickly. “It’s just, I’m not at home right now, and I didn’t know if you were picking me up, or if I was driving, or if we were meeting somewhere -- ”

 

“ _I’m picking you up_ ,” Suga interrupts him. “ _If you’re ready right now, I can head over._ ”

 

 _Hell_ yeah _, I’m ready_ , Namjoon almost yells, but then remembers he’s not a twelve year old. “S-sure. Uh, I’m at…” Namjoon looks around. He walked here (read: ran at ten miles per hour), but he barely remembers any of the street names. “I’ll be on Vineyard. Vineyard Avenue.”

 

 _“Alright. I’ll be there in ten,”_ Suga says, and wow, Namjoon realizes it almost sounds like he’s being picked up for a date -- _no_ . He shakes his head; this is strictly a _professional_ meet. Or a friendly one. Yeah, friendly. Friendly is good.

 

“‘Kay, then, guess I’ll see you,” Namjoon swallows hard, trying to contain his excitement (holy shit this is happening, _this is happening_ ).

 

“ _See you,_ ” Suga echoes, before there’s a click, and the call ends.

 

Namjoon puts his phone away, jogging toward Vineyard. His heart’s beating a little quicker -- okay, maybe a _lot_ quicker -- and he can’t seem to sit still as he waits for Suga to arrive.

 

\--

 

Namjoon almost misses the sound of Suga pulling up by the bus stop he’s sitting at, but as he looks up from his phone he spots him on his black, sleek-looking motorbike. Namjoon’s on his heels as soon as Suga stops by the curve.

 

“Hey,” Suga says, lifting his helmet and shaking his mint bangs out. “You got everything you need?”

 

“Yep,” Namjoon pops the ‘p’, glancing down at his laptop bag.

 

“Alright, then,” Suga starts moving up in his seat, and then he’s handing his helmet to Namjoon. Namjoon grabs onto it; it’s lighter than it looks. He looks up at Suga, tilting his head to the side in confusion. “Climb on.” Suga tilts his head toward the seat, and, oh --

 

Namjoon has to ride on the motorcycle. With Suga.

 

“Oh, um,” Namjoon stutters nervously. He’s never ridden a motorcycle by himself before, much less ridden with someone else. (Clearly) Namjoon has no idea what to do.

 

He climbs onto the seat as carefully as he can, after putting Suga’s helmet on over his head, but he’s not sure where he should put any of his limbs.

 

“How do I -- ” Namjoon starts, fingers tingling with apprehension.

 

“Put your hands around my waist,” Suga says, like he was reading his mind. He says it so bluntly, almost like it should be something Namjoon’s used to.

 

Unsure of himself, he gingerly reaches his hands for Suga’s torso, just barely touching the fabric of his jacket at his hips, when Suga takes both of his hands and fucking pulls them all the way around his stomach. Without warning. Namjoon thinks he makes a noise, but it’s in the back of his throat, and he prays that Suga didn’t hear him.

 

“Move up a little closer; I don’t want you falling off and breaking something,” Suga says, glancing back at Namjoon.

 

Namjoon might be taller than Suga (by a good few inches, too), but it definitely does _not_ feel that way, because Namjoon feels like a fucking child, afraid he’s going to die if he so much as touches his chest to Suga’s back. He doesn't know why he's getting so worked up over this; it's just a fucking motorcycle ride. Still, he can't shake the fluttering in his chest and stomach when he tries to picture himself so close to Suga. It seems really... _intimate._ Is Suga really okay with someone getting right up next to him?

 

He swallows -- fuck it -- and scooches up until he’s pressed up to Suga’s back. All the way. No gaps.

 

For a split second, it’s completely quiet, save for the sound of the motorcycle’s light whirring, and a multitude of thoughts cross Namjoon’s mind. He wonders if Suga can feel the movement of his chest as he breathes, wonders if he notices how much his hand are shaking. Maybe Suga’s the type of guy who likes closeness, somebody that enjoys the warmth of some else’s body --

 

“Got it?” Suga peers at Namjoon.

 

“Uh, yep,” Namjoon tries to bring a smile to his face, but then realizes that duh, he’s wearing Suga’s helmet, and Suga’s not gonna see anything.

 

And then Suga revs up the motorbike and (reflexively. One hundred percent reflex) tightens his hold on Suga (he’s never ridden a motorcycle, and the last time he rode a bike he almost broke his ankle). There’s no way that Suga didn’t feel him tense up, oh god, oh god, _oh god_ \--

 

“It’s just a ten minute drive,” Suga says then. Namjoon wonders if he says it in effort to calm Namjoon down, and then they’re moving forward. Namjoon tries to say _Okay, cool,_ but all that he manages is a shaky nod. His stomach is swirling with unease, and he squeezes his eyes shut as Suga pulls into the middle of the road.

 

“You can hold on tighter, if you want,” Suga tells him, and Namjoon realizes he hasn’t been breathing for the past ten seconds.

 

“Yeah, ah -- okay,” Namjoon says. He experimentally brings himself a little closer, pulling himself up just a smidge. “S-sorry, I’ve just never ridden a motorcycle before,” he mumbles, tucking his chin as he feels his ears burn.

 

Suga snorts, shrugs. “Don’t be. There’s a first for everything,” he says, before they start speeding up. Namjoon jumps, and (reflex! It’s all reflex, he _swears_ ) his fingers dig into the front of Suga’s jacket, and he rests his forehead against the back of Suga’s scalp.

 

The first minute is mildly terrifying; Namjoon’s hyperaware of how the bike speeds up and slows down at stoplights, and how the wind stings his skin. His gut lurches at the thought of him suddenly falling off, but then the first minute passes by, and...hey. He’s holding onto Suga. He’s not gonna fall off.

 

Namjoon finds that if he focuses on how solid and tangible Suga feels, it’s...not so bad. And if he focuses on how Suga’s back muscles contract and shift against him as he makes a turn or leans one way, it actually feels kind of...nice. Nah, it feels better than nice. It feels...comfortable.

 

Namjoon was right; it does feel really intimate. They’re not talking to each other, not even looking at each other, but they’re so close, and Namjoon wonders if Suga can feel his heart thrumming (actually racing at probably a million beats a minute) away beneath his chest.

 

Around the five minute mark, Namjoon notices that Suga’s helmet smells sort of minty; a candy-sweet aroma that actually makes him relax even further. It reminds Namjoon of something frosty; icy. Ice breakers? Or maybe Suga just likes chewing mint gum.

 

When eight minutes have gone by, Namjoon finds that Suga really is warm; his body heat is mixing with Namjoon’s. It’s cozy and comforting, and Namjoon finds the courage to relax around Suga, sinking forward just a little bit.

 

And then Namjoon realizes they’ve entered a neighborhood. A ritzy neighborhood. A really, _really_ , ritzy neighborhood.

 

Like, Namjoon’s never really been around the wealthier side of the city that he lives in, but he can definitely tell that those square fountains were not made with just a thousand dollar budget. And also, there’s lots of space; the houses are all really far apart, with lots of flowerbeds and grass in between.

 

Suga shifts his arm, pulling out his phone, and at first Namjoon’s confused as to what he’s doing, _please don’t move or else Namjoon might fall_ , when he pulls up real close to a keypad and holds it up. There’s a chime after a second, and Suga puts his phone away, and Namjoon realizes he’s opening up the front gate.

 

Without warning, Suga speeds up, racing through the gate (holy _fuck_ ), and Namjoon (reflexively, emphasis on _reflexively_ ) re-tightens his hold on his torso.

 

Assuming this is Suga’s house, Namjoon sees that Suga’s got really simple taste in design (at least, for the exterior of his place). Well, saying this is Suga’s _house_ is an understatement, because it looks like there are three stories, and it’s all boxy with sharp lines. Custom design, no doubt.

 

Suga drives through the garage door as it opens, slowing to a halt. As the garage slides shut, Suga switches his bike off, and the as the steady hum of his bike dies away, it’s replaced with the sound of...water? Holy shit, Suga’s got a goddamn _pool_ in his house. Like, with nice pool chairs, and it looks like there are _glass walls._

 

“The studio’s on the other side,” Suga says, and then he’s moving. Namjoon’s arms slide from his form, and it feels kind of weird to not be so close to him. Suga unmounts and waits at the side of the bike, and Namjoon realizes he’s keeping the bike steady for him.

 

Namjoon clambers off of the bike, desperately trying not to fall flat on his face, and he pulls Suga’s helmet off when his feet touch the floor. Suga kicks the bike’s kickstand out, and he then turns to face Namjoon. He opens his mouth to say something, but he stops as soon as he makes eye contact, like something’s stuck in his throat. And, uh, is Namjoon’s hair messed up? Something on his face?

 

“Here,” Suga suddenly clears his throat, coughing slightly. Namjoon realizes he’s holding a hand out, and he hastily passes his helmet back to him. Suga hangs it on the bike’s handle, and as he starts walking away Namjoon follows after him. “Shoes go here,” he says, stepping out of his own converse shoes, before entering the house. Namjoon carefully kicks off his own, and suddenly wonders if his socks are dirty (has he done the laundry this week?).

 

Namjoon really shouldn’t be surprised by the size of Suga’s house, but he’s been living in an apartment for two for the past four years of his life. So really, he thinks he has an excuse for literally choking on air when he sees the rest of Suga’s place.

 

Aside from the fact that it’s _fucking huge_ , the whole place is designed like some house Namjoon thinks belongs in movies. Everything’s clean, everything’s spaced out, and all the shrubbery is cut to a tee. Either Suga is a god of cleaning, or he’s hired someone who’s the god of cleaning.

 

Namjoon can’t keep quiet any longer; this is literally the nicest place he’s ever set foot in.

 

“Um, I like your house,” Namjoon says quietly, tailing Suga. And -- okay, now that he thinks about it, that was probably one of the dumbest things he could have said. Honestly -- he could have at least said something that would have warranted an at least slightly elaborate response.

 

“Thanks.” Suga glances over at Namjoon, and then he’s facing away again. Namjoon can’t properly gauge how much Suga thinks he’s stupid, but he’s pretty sure it’s an eleven out of ten (ten being a fucking idiot).

 

“D’you live alone?” Namjoon asks as they enter what must be the living room, but he stops when he catches movement across the way. It’s from the kitchen, which is open to the living room, and Namjoon sees the fridge being swung open. Maybe it’s...Jungkook? Or Jimin? He can’t see their face, but he notices that they’re barefoot. Or -- not completely barefoot; there’s a bandage wrapped around their right ankle.

 

“Tae.” Suga’s stopped walking, too, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

 

The guy behind the fridge door peeks his head out, brows raised. He’s got chestnut brown hair that’s sticking up all over the place, and with wide eyes, he looks at Suga, to Namjoon, and then back to Suga.

 

“Oh, hey,” the guy says, smiling sleepily, and Namjoon can’t help but wonder if he’s a part of Suga’s(?) gang. “Didn’t know you’d be back so soon. Um, where’re the chocolate chips?”

 

Suga sighs, shoulders sagging. “Top shelf on the door,” he says. “Why are you out of bed? And why are you making a -- ” he looks over to the blender and fruits on the island counter, and are those _four tubs of ice cream holy shit._ “ -- milkshake?”

 

“Couldn’t sleep, got hungry,” Tae -- is that his name? That’s what Namjoon’s gonna call him -- replies with a casual shrug. He turns his attention to Namjoon. “You want me to make you guys some? I was gonna make two, but there’s a ton of ice cream.”

 

Namjoon sees Suga’s lip twitch, and then Suga’s looking over to Namjoon. “Do you want anything?” he asks, and then he licks his lips.

 

“Um, sure.” Namjoon’s eyes dart over to the counter. There’s mint, strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate; all fairly basic flavors (but each tub is _huge_ , there has to be more than two gallons in each one).

 

“Sweet. What flavor?” Tae calls from the kitchen, and Namjoon watches as he pulls out a bag of chocolate chips from the fridge, along with two cans of whipped cream.

 

“Mint is fine,” Suga shrugs. Maybe it’s not such a coincidence that Suga, someone with mint-green hair, likes mint stuff. It would explain the minty smell of his helmet.

 

“Strawberry?” Namjoon says, when Tae looks over at him quizzically.

 

“Okay, hold on a second,” Tae slides everything he’s holding onto the counter. He starts dumping miscellaneous ingredients into the blender, and it’s then that Namjoon notices he’s supporting himself against the counter with one hand.

 

Suga combs through his bangs, before he gestures to the couch. “You can sit,” he says, but doesn’t make any move to sit himself.

 

Namjoon makes himself comfortable on the couch anyways, and watches Suga, who’s keeping his eyes on Tae.

 

“So you, ah, don’t live alone,” Namjoon comments. Maybe Tae is a close friend?

 

Suga looks at Namjoon out of the corner of his eye. “I do, actually. Taehyung’s just staying for the weekend. Fucked up his ankle.”

 

Namjoon glance over at the bandaged injury, and that must be why Tae -- Tae _hyung_ , is holding himself up. In fact, only his toes are touching the floor, and Namjoon’s both surprised and impressed with how well he’s managing, making milkshakes with just one hand. The sound of the blender starts up, and Suga lapses into a short silence.

 

Namjoon opts for silence, too, because it’d be real awkward to have to yell at Suga to talk to him, and he’s almost ninety percent sure that Suga is the type of person that isn’t super into shouting. So, to pass the time, he studies the structure of Suga’s face (it’s not _leering_ \-- Namjoon’s never seen pictures of him before, and this all might be a one time thing).

 

Suga’s got a small bridge nose, one that has a nice, subtle curve outward that Namjoon may or may not envy. His cheekbones are sharp, raised high, and behind the curtain of his bangs, Namjoon sees that his eyebrows are a natural shade of brown (he doubts Suga would be the kind of person to bleach their eyebrows). And then his lips look nice, too; soft, even, like he wears copious amounts of eos chapstick, and maybe even --

 

Namjoon’s thoughts grind to a stop, because Suga’s looking back at him now. Namjoon feels himself flushing, because fuck, he’s was starting to sink to Blondie's level for a second there -- _no_ ! No, he was not; Namjoon was _not_ checking Suga out. He was simply admiring the lines of his face and appreciating how nicely each feature complimented one another. That’s...that’s definitely not qualified as checking someone out. Nope.

 

Namjoon’s mouth dries out, and he finally glances off to the side. He feels his face warming a little, and he swears, if Suga is able to tell he’s blushing he’s going to implode. This is all professional. _Professional._ Namjoon should start acting like it.

 

“M’kay, one mint shake and one strawberry.” Taehyung slices through their little moment like a razor blade. He’s limping over to Suga, dragging his foot along, and once he’s passed him his drink, he heads over to Namjoon.

 

Namjoon half-stands, because he doesn’t want this guy to trip over his injured foot, and reaches for his drink. They meet each other’s gazes when Taehyung is just a couple of steps away, and there’s a flicker of realization that crosses Taehyung’s eyes. “You’re Namjoon, right?” Taehyung says, as he passes him his drink. Namjoon nods, and just as Taehyung’s fingers are falling away, Namjoon feels him linger, as if he’s hesitant to release both the drink and Namjoon.

 

“Wait, hold on,” Taehyung frowns, and before Namjoon can ask, he’s slipping his fingers beneath Namjoon’s palm, and Namjoon almost screams, nearly dropping the drink, but makes the save with his other hand.

 

Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot up as he runs the pads of his fingers over Namjoon’s hand, along the palm and across his fingers. Namjoon would be worrying over the possibility that he’d done something wrong if it weren’t for the whole… _weirdness_ of the situation. He stays absolutely still, staring frantically from Taehyung’s hand to his face.

 

“Hyung was right,” Taehyung clips, then, and slides his hand away from Namjoon’s. “You do have nice hands.”

 

Namjoon blinks, because that’s -- that’s the second time he’s heard that compliment before -- first from Jimin, and now...Taehyung. Namjoon wants to say thanks, but then wonders who he should be saying it to, because according to Jimin, and now Taehyung, it was _Suga_ who said Namjoon had nice hands.

 

Namjoon doesn’t have time to ask, because Suga’s cutting right in, just like how Taehyung had.

 

“Taehyung, where’s Jin?” Suga grits out. Namjoon looks past Taehyung, and sees that Suga’s wearing the same expression he had the night before; positively murderous.

 

Taehyung blinks, looking back over to Suga. “Oh, he was cleaning up the studio. Because, um, Jimin and Jungkook dropped by. Earlier today, while you were out,” Taehyung mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck. Suga shoots him a look, brow quirked, and Taehyung seems to cave at that. “Yeah, they fucked in your studio. Again.”

 

And o _\-- okay_ , Namjoon was not expecting that to have been...a _thing_ , and he almost swallows a whole mouthful of strawberry milkshake down his windpipe.

 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I was sleeping when they, uh...started fucking. And Jin wasn’t around, and I wasn’t gonna get up from a nap just to tell them to stop,” Taehyung sighs, furrowing his brow.

 

“I’m surprised you were able to sleep at all,” Suga snorts, and Namjoon doesn’t know if he can drink his milkshake anymore.

 

“I didn’t. For like, two hours,” Taehyung blows his bangs out of his face. “Your classical music helped, though, thanks.”

 

Suga scoffs, rolling his eyes, as he raises his drink to his lips, taking a sip. “How long’ve you been up?”

 

Taehyung gives a noncommittal shrug. “Not too long; ten, fifteen minutes. Jin woke me up, dunno how long he’s been here,” and then he looks over to Namjoon. “So, you two, uh, doin’ something? ‘S this a date?” And then he holds up his palms. “Cause if it is, I can go back to bed. Just, uh, let Jin know I’m making his shake.”

 

Namjoon swallows down his shake hard -- _what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck --_ no, this is _not a date_ ; this is a professional writing session with no romantic tension or undertones whatsoever. _None at all_ . Where is Taehyung getting _that_ idea?

 

Namjoon glances over to Suga for help, because his throat is all tight and he can’t find his voice, and watches as Suga narrowing his eyes at Taehyung. “We’re going to be writing for a couple of hours. Is the studio cleaned up yet?” he says, and although he doesn’t say it, there’s a strong hint of _Don’t fuck with me_ in his voice and eyes.

 

Taehyung gives Suga an owlish sort of stare, almost like he doesn’t believe him, but doesn’t push it any further. “Mm, dunno. Jin was muttering something about the walls being messed up, so...probably not? You can go check for yourself,” he sighs with a shrug.

 

Suga’s jaw clenches, and he looks off to the side. “Yeah, sure,” he grunts, and then makes a come hither motion with his index and middle finger in Namjoon’s direction. Namjoon rises to his feet, stumbling over to where Suga stands.

 

“Oh, can you tell Jin that his stuff’s ready?” Taehyung says with a cheery grin. His expression turns quizzical, suddenly. “And, um, I know I shouldn’t really be asking, but you two aren’t going to be making a whole lot of...noise, right?”

 

Namjoon splutters, and now he’s blushing for real. He and Suga met like, three weeks ago, over _coffee._ Namjoon made him _coffee_ . He is here for _business_ , and _only_ business. Sure, the occasional peek at Suga’s eyes or lips probably isn’t taboo -- but _no_ , they aren’t here to _fuck_ . Namjoon is here because of his passion for _music_ , not Suga (who happens to be _way_ out of Namjoon’s league. And also one of Namjoon’s biggest idols. And also possibly a gang member).  The only way they’d end up fucking in his studio was if they were --

 

\-- okay, okay, okay, _no_. Stop, _stop_ ; no more, Namjoon pleads to himself.

 

Namjoon chances a look over at Suga, who’s back to looking ready to rip someone’s scalp off, and Namjoon’s starting to fear for Taehyung’s safety, when Taehyung makes his own save.

 

“Oh my god, no, _no_ ! I meant -- uh, I meant don’t blast your music. The house’s been quiet for barely twenty minutes since I’ve woken up,” Taehyung is laughing -- _laughing,_ covering his mouth with his palm. Namjoon doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to laugh along with him or stare in horror, so he settles for a very strangled semi-laugh as he takes a sip from his straw.

 

Suga, unsurprisingly, does not laugh, and does not give any indication that he finds the misunderstanding humorous at all. “Go make Jin’s milkshake,” he says commandingly, and without another word is walking in straight line right out of the living room.

 

Taehyung watches Suga pass him, and as soon as his face is out of his line of sight, a grin splits across his face (he’s not really sorry at all, is he?). And when he sees Namjoon, his smile widens even further. “Have fun,” he says, nudging Namjoon’s elbow, and gives him a _wink._

 

“Milkshake, Tae; _now_ ,” Suga demands from over his shoulder

 

“Gotcha, I gotcha,” Taehyung chirps, limping away from Namjoon before he can give a proper reaction. So he shoves down all the questions -- _all of them_ \-- down his throat with another sip of his drink, and stumbles over his own feet to catch up with Suga.

 

Namjoon gets one last look at the first floor before he ascends the stairs, and finds that there’s actually a nice view from the living room. And it’s not like they’re super high up, so Namjoon doesn’t have to worry about throwing up or fainting.

 

Suga’s waiting for him when he reaches the top, hands in his pockets. As soon as Namjoon joins him, he begins walking toward a smaller flight of stairs.

 

Namjoon wonders if Suga would be okay with him asking about Taehyung, if he’s a gang member, if he’s a sibling. He’s hopefully -- _obviously_ not his boyfriend, considering the fact Tae threw around the assumption that Namjoon was going on a date with Suga himself. But Namjoon’s still got some nagging curiosity urging him on to ask, or just talk to Suga.

 

“You don’t mind if I ask who Taehyung is, do you?” Namjoon ventures warily.

 

Suga quirks his mouth up to the right corner, thoughtful. “He’s a close friend. He’s not my...my _boyfriend_ , if that's what you were thinking.”

 

Namjoon swears that Suga can read his mind, and is about to tell him he thinks so, when Suga pushes open the already slightly-ajar door before them.

 

“Jin,” Suga calls out, and Namjoon sees a guy with light brown fringe wiping up the wall with a rag (god, Namjoon does not want to think about what went down there, _nope_ ). The guy, humming to whatever soothing classical music is playing, stills, and when he sees Suga, his face brightens with a considerably parental smile.

 

“Hey! I knew I heard you pull up,” Jin beams, dropping the rag into what must be a bucket of water, and he’s bounding over to Suga. He reaches a hand out and ruffles his hair, an action that Suga doesn’t respond to in the slightest, not even with a blink. “Did you eat yet? I know you had a lot of work today. You better not have skipped out on lunch.”

 

Suga sighs, holding up his drink. “I’m eating right now,” he says, but...Namjoon’s not sure that really counts as eating.

 

Jin appears just as disbelieving, and he scrunches up his face in a frown, folding his arms. “No, no, _no_ \-- that’s a _milkshake_ ; not real, solid, food. Please don’t tell me you skipped out on breakfast, either.”

 

Suga shrugs. “I had to get up early; didn’t have a chance to make anything.”

 

“Suga,” Jin says, sounding concerned. “I’m going to make dinner. Right now.”

 

Suga rolls his eyes, just takes a sip of his drink. “Thanks, mother. Really appreciate your support.”

 

Jin sighs. “I’m doing it because you need it.” And then, for the first time, he looks over to Namjoon. “You’re going to make sure he doesn’t starve, right? His favorite foods are bulgogi and teriyaki, also -- ”

 

“Taehyung said he was making a milkshake for you,” Suga says flatly.

 

“Oh! He’s...out of bed?” Jin says warily, looking over to Suga, and holy shit, the mom vibes Namjoon is getting from this guy are _overwhelming._

 

“My thoughts exactly,” Suga replies. He kind of looks irritated, but Namjoon’s not super surprised -- he's experienced the occasional mothering from Hoseok during bouts of illness, so he understands what Suga must be feeling.

 

“Okay, I’ll...go down and make sure he hasn’t fallen down, or anything. And also, I’m gonna make dinner; it’ll be ready at…” Jin suddenly turns his head to look at the clock. “...Seven? Uh, seven thirty. Yep.”

 

“‘Kay, thanks,” Suga says, and Namjoon can almost hear the _Get the fuck out of here_ in his voice.

 

Except, Jin doesn’t leave yet.

 

He looks over at Namjoon, smiling again. “So, I was saying, he likes teriyaki, and fried rice. Pineapple fried rice, actually; it’s really easy to make. He can show you how to make it, if you want.”

 

And Namjoon’s just kind of...staring, because a) he can’t fucking cook for shit, and b) why is this guy so hard pressed to ensure Namjoon knows what Suga’s interested in?

 

“Wait, what?” Namjoon says, utterly clueless.

 

Jin’s shrugs, like it isn’t completely out of the ordinary that he’s just suggested he learn how to cook fried rice from Suga. “For future reference,” he says back, but it doesn’t really clarify anything.

 

But obviously, it clears something up with Suga, who exhales noisily. “Thanks for cleaning up; appreciate it.”

 

Jin glances over at the wall, and Namjoon is praying that stain isn’t what he thinks it is. “Yeah! I’m not done yet, actually, but I’ll finish it later. Like, tomorrow. Um, the couch should be all cleaned up, but I’m pretty sure it’s the desk that’s completely spotless. Could be wrong, though, I only checked it twice.” And then he’s nodding to both Suga and Namjoon. “Well, it’s been nice, but I don’t want to keep you two _too_ occupied. I’m sure you both are going to have tons of fun together!”

 

Jin slides through the gap between Suga and Namjoon. Before he makes his full exit, he gives a small wave, saying, “Enjoy yourselves!” And then he lets the door shut behind him.

 

Namjoon is still unsure of what all of... _that_ , was, but he’s pretty sure Suga caught whatever drift Namjoon just missed out on. Namjoon looks over at him, and sees him mouth something under his breath; might have been “ _Fucking finally_ ,” or something like that.

 

And Suga makes his way over to the desk, pulling out two of the rolly-chairs (they don’t look like the crappy, ikea-made ones Hoseok and Namjoon have at the apartment). After setting his shake down on the desk, he taps the screen of the computer -- _shit_ , a touch screen monitor? Suga’s so fucking _rich_ \-- and the volume of the music lowers.

 

“Come here,” Suga beckons, suddenly, and Namjoon hurriedly takes a seat on the presented rolly chair. Suga takes a seat after Namjoon, and rolls up in front of Namjoon. Namjoon finds himself holding in his breath as Suga leans in a little closer. “Show me what you have,” he says, one arm extended in Namjoon’s direction.

 

Namjoon blinks, and he hastily fumbles through his laptop bag for his notebook -- _there_ it is, right beneath the two cupcakes, and as he hands Suga his book, he wonders if Suga would enjoy sharing those cupcakes with him; there _is_ a mint one, and maybe Namjoon’ll finally get to ask if he’s just really into mint stuff.

 

And then, Suga’s flipping through his book, and Namjoon reaches a hand out to grasp at one of the tabbed pages.

 

“Um, here,” Namjoon says, halting Suga’s search, and Suga glances up at Namjoon, and then back down to the notebook.

 

“Do You,” Suga says, eyes flickering over the page, and -- wait, _wait_ , no that’s that _wrong one_ ; he wrote literally every stanza at two in the morning. Namjoon hasn’t even revised it _once,_ but he’s willing to bet it’s really shitty.

 

“Wait, no, that’s actually not the one -- ” Namjoon nearly panics. First impressions, when it comes to writing, are so fucking _important_ \-- it sets the stage for the writer, for expectations and opinions -- and Namjoon’s certain he’s just fucked his with Suga up really, _really_ , bad.

 

Except, Suga’s already scanning the page, one line to the next, and if Suga wasn’t _Suga,_ Namjoon would snag his notebook right out of his hands. Suga’s more than likely internally cringing with every passing word, maybe even throwing up a little. Namjoon feels helpless; he can’t do or say anything because Suga’s already at the second verse, and all he can do is observe how Suga’s taking in the whole piece.

 

Namjoon waits with baited breath for any curl of the lips, a frown of disapproval, _anything_ just to properly tell how thoroughly disgusted Suga is, only, there’s...nothing. Well, not _nothing_ , because Suga’s mouthing the lyrics, a familiar habit. He’s reaching the chorus, Namjoon thinks, as he realizes he’s starting up the repetition of the line ‘do you.’

 

And it stays likes that, until Suga’s reached the very last word. Namjoon doesn’t think he saw any emotion flash over his face, and he almost cheers, when he realizes that could also just mean Suga was dead bored or just plain unimpressed with his writing.

 

Namjoon wants to scream when Suga leans back in his chair, resting a fist over his mouth, because here comes the verdict, and Namjoon is almost certain it’s going to read, G _uilty of writing shitty lyrics_ ; he braces himself as best he can.

 

“You can rap this, right?” Suga looks up at Namjoon.

 

And the truth is, probably...not? Again, Namjoon hasn’t revised it, meaning he hasn’t had the chance to reread it, also meaning he hasn’t practiced it. In his head, at two in the morning, maybe he did, but that was while he was writing it, at two in the morning.

 

But is he really going to tell Suga that?

 

“I mean, I -- I haven’t exactly…” _looked_ _it_ _over_ , haha, meaning _I can barely remember how the flow went_ , “Gone over it for a while? But I can -- ” _try. And also fail. And possibly embarrass myself so hard I’ll die_. “ -- do it right now, if that’s what you want.”

 

Namjoon prays that Suga will say something along the line of, _Oh, okay, do you have anything else,_ and they can put this (tragedy of a) piece behind the both of them, but to his horror, Suga _nods._ “Yeah. Show me.”

 

Namjoon cannot _believe_ he’s fucked himself up so bad, but he doesn’t have time to fix his mistakes, because Suga’s already handing him his notebook back. _Fuck_.

 

“Okay, ah,” Namjoon glares down at the messy handwriting. _This is your fault,_ he says in silence, but at this point he doesn’t know if he’s accusing himself, or the song. He inhales once, and after he’s read the first line in his head, lets the words fall from his mouth.

 

It starts out shaky, but it’s...surprisingly less awful than Namjoon had predicted it would be. He finds his rhythm early on, too, and pretty soon he thinks he’s reciting it exactly how his past, awake and dying at two a.m. self had wanted it to be. He doesn’t dare look up from his lyrics, because he knows if he so much as makes eye contact with Suga, everything’s going to fall to pieces.

 

And then it’s done.

 

Namjoon’s almost out of breath by the time the last line is hanging in the air. He blinks at himself; he can barely believe he actually managed to not fuck everything up worse than it already was. Er, well, that’s all according to himself -- Suga might be thinking otherwise.

 

“That’s what I’ve got,” Namjoon coughs, tapping his fingers against the spine of the page. Jin’s classical music is still playing, really softly, but Namjoon can hear it perfectly, and he tries to focus on each note of violin to distract himself from his own anxiety.

 

Suga’s eyes close, then, like he’s trying to come up with a good answer. Namjoon can’t read his face; can’t tell what he’s thinking, until he opens his eyes and speaks. “Your flow,” Suga starts off. _Is off? Unsteady? Unappealing? Just awful?_ “Is rough. But it’s steady.” And, oh, _oh_ , is Suga about to _not diss his work holy shit --_ “That’s a decent piece you have going.”

 

 _Ha_ ! Namjoon would point to the sky if he was alone. _I’m semi-capable of being successful at writing, even at two in the morning_!

 

“Thanks,” Namjoon says, voice almost a squeak. He can’t believe this just happened -- that Suga, world famous producer, just said his piece was _decent_ . Namjoon is tempted to jump out of his seat, open a window and just _scream_ , because he’s just -- so _excited -_

 

“Do you have more? We can pick a few songs to focus on before we make edits,” Suga says, and Namjoon blinks. Suga’s interested. In Namjoon’s writing. God is _real._

 

“Yeah, um, I’ve got another one that I’ve started. It’s not, uh, done, though, but it’s about halfway finished,” Namjoon flips through his notebook until he comes across the right page.

 

“So let’s finish it,” Suga says, and he’s holding his hand out again for the notebook.

 

Namjoon passes it over, wondering if he should ask for further criticism on Do You, but decides he can wait, because Suga’s reading over the page now.

 

“Blanket Kick, huh?” Suga reads aloud, raised brows, and when he’s done reading over the first part, he locks gazes with Namjoon, “Show me what you have.”

 

\--

 

Turns out, Suga is just as fucking amazing as Namjoon had imagined. Also, significantly less...brutal? He gives a lot criticism, a _lot_ , but he doesn’t interrupt Namjoon once to tell him anything like _That was bad, try again_ , or _You missed a word_ . He’s _helpful_ \-- clear and direct when he wants to get a point across (“You’re not hitting the note; raise your voice more”), and Namjoon never has to ask twice for clarification. He even gives Namjoon tips for improvement, sometimes, and Namjoon scrambles to write down any and all of his advice.

 

They spend most of their time outlining lyrics, though, and despite Namjoon worrying that Suga would shred his writing, he simply points out where words make the flow choppier, or where the rhymes could be changed.

 

Blanket Kick ends up looking fucking _spectacular_ by the time Suga’s through with it. It’s still recognizably similar to its original state, but it’s almost like Suga’s given it a whole makeover. It’s almost like their styles combined, fifty-fifty.

 

Over time, the formal tone of their whole session kind of...loosens up, and pretty soon, Namjoon’s laughing at the disses and little comments Suga makes every now and then. His sense of humor is so _dry_ , but it feels natural, and Namjoon really can’t help his smile whenever Suga mutters some sharp joke in his dead-serious tone, or whenever Suga laughs or smiles himself (Namjoon kind of stares whenever _that_ happens, because -- well, isn’t it obvious?). Suga seems very dedicated and much more than just talented, but _damn_ does he know how to roast idols.

 

Suga’s offering Namjoon the chance to use the actual recording room, which is on the other side of the room, and Namjoon is kind of about to faint, because _what_? But there’s a loud knock at the door, and Namjoon barely gets anything out of his mouth past a lame sputtering noise.

 

“Hey, dinner’s done.” It’s Taehyung, sticking just his head through to peer at the two of them.

 

“We’ll be down in a second,” Suga says back. Taehyung glances at Namjoon for a second, then back to Suga, and it seems as though he wants to say something, but he quickly disappears back behind the door.

 

Suga runs a hand through his bangs, and he’s looking down at his lap. He leans back in his chair and as he looks up at Namjoon, biting his lip. “Did you…” he scrunches up his nose. “Did you want to stay for dinner?”

 

And Namjoon kind of has to take a second to process that, because did he. Just get invited to dinner. With _Suga_ ? And also two of his friends? Hell _yeah_ , he wants to stay (for friend purposes! And hey, it’s not everyday you get to spend more than an hour with one of your most loved -- er,   _respected_ musicians).

 

“Sure,” Namjoon swallows. But -- wait -- what if he’s just being a nuisance hanging around Suga? “I mean, uh, only if it’s not an intrusion, I don’t want to be any more of a hassle. I -- I already took up so much of your time.”

 

Suga raises a brow, like he’s surprised to hear him say that. “It’s not a bother. _You’re_ not a bother,” he says. He scratches at his jaw then, looking off to the side. “It was nice working with you.”

 

Namjoon almost has a heart attack -- that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s told him for the past _month_ , and the person that’s just said it is _Suga_ , of all people. He forgets to breathe, forgets how to function, and is about to _die_ , when Taehyung sticks his head right back past the door.

 

“Jin says that Namjoon has to stay for dinner, by the way,” Tae pipes up, effectively shattering the moment.

 

“ _Okay,_ Tae, we’ll be right down,” Suga says, almost snappily. And then Taehyung’s gone again, and Namjoon swears he can hear him laughing as he walks away.

 

On the way back down, Namjoon sends a quick text to Hoseok, telling him he’s out for dinner. And then he remembers that Hoseok doesn’t have a clue that he’s been out writing with the incredibly talented and wonderful Suga. To save himself from an onslaught of texts most likely consisting of _Y DIDN’T U TELL ME_ and _IM SO PROUD OF U BUT ALSO Y_ , Namjoon just says he’s at a...friend’s house. Because that’s what Suga is. A friend. Also a friend that's a million miles above Namjoon in every way possible. But still. Friends.

 

The stuff Jin’s made is a mix of Korean cuisine that Namjoon hasn’t seen since he was a kid (Hoseok’s the one who makes the effort and goes out to eat actual Asian food; Namjoon eats whatever’s edible). Jin’s sliding chopsticks and plates onto the table, saying something to Taehyung as he’s seating himself, and as soon as he sees both Suga and Namjoon, he breaks out into a grin.

 

“You both get a lot done?” Jin asks, waiting until they’re both in chairs, before sliding into his own.

 

“More than enough,” Namjoon decides to answer, because really, Suga didn’t have to do what he did (god, Namjoon owes him _so fucking hard_ ).

 

“Great! I’m glad Suga was able to help out,” Jin mumbles, and he’s already stuffing his mouth with...everything?

 

“Sounded like you both had fun,” Taehyung muses. As he’s picking up his noodles with his chopsticks, he pauses, and smirks at Suga. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You’re starting to think like Jungkook and Jimin.”

 

“Please no,” Suga rolls his eyes, like the mere mention of the two sickens him.

 

Tae begins devouring the noodles, and after a second, pauses to speak again. “But, if that _is_ what’s going on, because you haven’t denied anything, I’m just going to remind you both to use protection,” Taehyung says, with a matter-of-fact tone, and Namjoon wants to fucking cough up a lung.

 

“What the fuck did you just say,” Suga deadpans, and Namjoon has never feared for someone’s safety so much in his entire life.

 

“ _Okay,_ so let’s not travel down that road, we’re eating right now,” Jin laughs nervously, and by some miracle, that actually seems to pacify Suga before he can let loose on Taehyung. Taehyung, who doesn’t seem frightened in the slightest, just eating his noodles like everything’s one hundred percent okay. Jin goes onto mutter something, but it’s too muffled by a mouthful of rice for Namjoon to catch.

 

“Huh?” Namjoon frowns (it almost sounds like he said _but he’s definitely right_ ).

 

“Nothing! Now eat, please. And I’m watching you Suga, you better eat at least three of everything,” Jin shakes his head.

 

Suga mutters something under his breath, probably swearing, but starts eating anyways. Namjoon starts eating away at his own serving of rice. Which is fucking fantastic, what the _shit_ ; it’s like a professional chef cooked for them.

 

It’s awkwardly quiet for a couple of seconds; Jin seems absorbed in his own meal while Taehyung seems perfectly content with the silent atmosphere, and Suga...has an unreadable expression on his face.

 

After he’s swallowed down a liberal helping of rice, concluding that it will be painfully awkward if no one says anything, Namjoon tries to conjure up something conversational to talk about. Jin is eating, Suga looks like he doesn’t want to talk, and Taehyung…

 

“Taehyung, what happened to your ankle?” Namjoon sets his chopsticks down. Thankfully, Taehyung looks up at Namjoon and responds without hesitation.

 

“What? Oh, that,” Taehyung glances down at his bandaged ankle. “It’s kinda stupid. I was just trying to copy one of my... _friend’s_ dance moves. I haven’t danced in a long time, so I kinda, uh, tripped.”

 

“He slipped and fell on his face,” Suga says flatly.

 

“It was a really difficult move, and I lost my balance,” Taehyung says defensively. Suga snorts, like he doesn’t buy it, and hey, wait a second -- didn’t Hoseok say someone at his dance studio twisted their ankle?

 

“Did you hurt your ankle last night?” Namjoon frowns.

 

“Yeah, ‘s why Suga’s letting me sleep over. Couldn’t ride my bike too far, and we were closer to his house than mine. Why?” Taehyung takes a sip of his water.

 

“No reason. It’s just, my friend Hoseok said he had to help someone with the same problem last night,” Namjoon purses his lips, glancing down at his food. Truthfully, he doesn’t Actually know if Hoseok was the guy who fixed whoever got injured up; he just knows he gave someone that twisted their ankle cupcakes (which were supposed to be for Jackson. But Namjoon knows they were given away for a good cause).

 

And -- woah, Namjoon was not expecting Taehyung’s eyes to light up at the sound of Hoseok’s name. In fact, Taehyung actually drops his food back onto his plate and sits up a little. “Ho...Hoseok?” He parrots.

 

“Yeah. Messy brown hair, average height, really good at dancing,” Namjoon says. He has a feeling that Taehyung is also the ‘friend’ Hoseok had mentioned when they were at the fair. That is, if Taehyung actually is in a gang (he did just admit he had a motorcycle; something all gang members that visit the Starbucks seem to own).

 

“Uh, yeah, I know him. I mean, we’re friends. But yeah, he was there last night,” Taehyung nods quickly. Namjoon notices he’s stopped eating. “Do you know him? Hoseok, I mean.”

 

Namjoon thinks he hears Suga snickering off to the side, and he can see him shaking his head in the corner of his eye.

 

“He’s actually my flatmate,” Namjoon says informatively.

 

“Wait -- really?” Taehyung has set his chopsticks down at this point. “I mean -- cool. That’s cool. He _is_ really good loo -- er, good at dancing. Yeah.”

 

“You using protection?” Suga says casually, and Namjoon can’t help but laugh, because _oh how the tables have turned._

 

“You should know that I’m just as responsible as Jimin and Jungkook,” Taehyung huffs, but Namjoon can clearly see his ears reddening. Namjoon continues to laugh, but then -- wait. What. _What._

 

“No. Fucking. Way,” Suga’s eyebrows are poised high in surprise.

 

“What the fuck! No! I mean, I _would_ be as responsible as Jimin and Jungkook,” Taehyung seems to realize his error, and now his whole face is turning pink. He buries his face in both of his palms, leaning back in his chair. “ _Oh my god_ ,” he groans.

 

Namjoon has no idea what to ask first -- How long have you been fucking(?) my roommate? How the fuck have I not known this? _Why has Hoseok not told me anything?_

 

So naturally, Namjoon picks one question that has absolutely nothing to do with the topic at hand.

 

“Are, uh, Jimin and Jungkook -- ?” he starts, but Taehyung finishes his sentence for him.

 

“Fucking? Yes. Dating? Also yes. Engaged? Hell yes. Glad I could answer your question,” Taehyung takes a very long drink of water.

 

“I meant are they going to be here tonight, but. Uh.” Namjoon blinks.

 

“They better not,” Jin pipes up, and he doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest at the prior revelation. Maybe he already knew?

 

“Oh. Why?” Namjoon swallows, and he wonders if he’s successfully changed the topic, even though he’s dying to know what the fuck is going on between his roommate/childhood best friend and this guy with a twisted ankle.

 

“Because Suga’s gonna shave their eyebrows off for screwing around in his studio,” Jin shrugs.

 

“Screwing each other,” Taehyung clarifies, seemingly having collected himself.

 

“I’m going to shave off _your_ eyebrows tonight. Withholding information from your friends and leader,” Suga points at Taehyung. Taehyung mutters a long-winded _“Fucking”_ before he lets his forehead hit the table.

 

As Taehyung’s expressing his suffering, Jin’s going off on a tangent about how unsanitary it is to fuck in any room that isn’t a bedroom, and Namjoon finds he’s zoning in on Suga, who’s _laughing._ His lips are upturned in that way that makes Namjoon dizzy, his are eyes bright with the light of the pool from outside, and all Namjoon can hear is Suga’s laughter, see Suga’s smile, and feel his heartbeat thudding, thudding, thudding.

 

\--

 

Dinner’s done, after an hour of Namjoon stuffing his face while trying not to die of laughter. Taehyung eventually quits his moping, somehow managing to redirect all the attention to the topic of cooking (probably thanks to Jin. The guy is _really_ into food).

 

And then Namjoon can’t eat anymore, and the clock has wound down to eight forty-six.

 

“Feel free to come back any time! Suga always has room for writing,” Jin is grinning whilst shoving three boxes of extra food into Namjoon’s arms. “It was really nice having you over. I’m sure that Suga thinks so, too,” he glances over at the mentioned producer, who’s starting up the motorcycle. “Make sure he eats enough, okay? Pineapple fried rice; remember that. Oh, and he likes mint stuff. A _lot_.”

 

“Namjoon,” Suga calls over the sound of his bike starting up. “Ready?”

 

“Ride safely,” Jin waves, before he turns on heel to leave, and Namjoon wants to say _Wait a second; I've got questions that need answering_ , but the words die on his lips when he's left alone with Suga.

 

Namjoon hesitates at Suga’s side, gripping his laptop bag, now full with leftover Korean food. When is he ever going to get a chance to do this again? Yeah, Jin said he could come back anytime, but that wasn't _Suga_ who said that _._

 

Without even realizing it, Namjoon’s looking over Suga's face again. Because, hey, not everyone gets to be so close to one of their highest held role models; Namjoon wants to remember...Suga. His eyes, his hair, the way his eyebrows are dark beneath his bangs and how his lips look glossy in the moonlight --

 

“You okay?” Suga blinks up at Namjoon, looking a touch confused.

 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, got lost in thought,” Namjoon shakes his head, climbing onto the bike. He stares at the back of Suga's jacket, before he slides back up against him, carefully looping his arms around his abdomen.

 

“This is your address, right?” Suga is showing him his phone, displaying the address Namjoon had typed in when dinner had finished. Namjoon has to lean a little closer to peer over Suga's shoulder, even if he's shorter, and he swallows as he feels Suga's back muscles moving.

 

“Yup, that's the place,” Namjoon nods, and settles back into his original position.

 

Suga puts his phone away, but pauses. He grabs his helmet, passing it back to Namjoon.

 

“Ready?” Suga looks at Namjoon over his shoulder, as Namjoon adjusts the helmet. Namjoon nods hands reaching back around Suga’s stomach.

 

And then they're moving again, leaving behind both Suga’s pretty estate and his neighborhood. This time, though, Namjoon finds there's no raging fear in his gut, no paranoia that they'll crash into some tree if Namjoon makes even the slightest movement with his leg. He’s...calm.

 

It's easy to find that warmth from before, now that it's colder outside, and Namjoon finds himself completely lax as they ride under the streetlight. The ride is peaceful, quiet, and there aren't too many other people out on the streets at this time in the night. The whole city seems tranquil as Suga rounds every corner, drives down different stretches of streets.

 

And Namjoon is so relaxed, feels so safe, he wonders if he could close his eyes, because Suga’s there, keeping him grounded. It would be easy; he could let his eyes slide shut, hold on a little tighter to be a little closer --

 

“‘S this it?” Suga snaps Namjoon from his daze, slowing to a stop at the curbside.

 

Namjoon shakes himself awake. “Yeah, thanks,” he nods, and (reluctantly. _Very_ reluctantly) slips off the bike. His breath is stuck in his throat, even when his feet hit the pavement, even as he's hand Suga his helmet. And as Suga's fingertips brush his, a familiar roughness that Namjoon wants to etch into his memory forever, his heart swells.

 

“Thank you,” Namjoon breathes, and as the words have left his lips, and -- and -- Suga stops, doesn't pull away. Namjoon doesn't let go either (it’d ruin the moment, probably). “Um, for the help. I’d be so fucked without you,” and, wait a second, no, that is _not_ what Namjoon wanted to say, _hahaha_ \-- “I mean, you really didn’t have to go out of your way t-to...help. It was super fun, and, ah, I really loved working with you,” he amends, swallowing hard.

 

Suga’s eyes widen, and there’s that strange, unreadable look Namjoon’s seen on him, at ten thirty at night, under the white, artificial lighting of a Starbucks, only now, there’s moonlight coloring his eyes, his mint bangs --

 

“Oh! I, um, forgot to ask back at your house, but I have some cupcakes,” Namjoon remembers the bright, neon frosting, and he lets his fingers fall away to begin searching through his laptop bag. When he feels the material of the packaging against his fingertips, he pulls out the two boxes and holds them up to Suga. “There’s a mint one, and I know you like mint stuff, so…”

 

Suga has the helmet at his hip, and he’s looking over the mint cupcake through the plastic of the top. He reaches out to accept it, and then, again, the pads of his fingertips are touching Namjoon’s hands. Namjoon wonders what Suga really thinks of his hands, if this is how he’s able to determine how Namjoon’s fingers are ‘nice.’

 

“Oh,” Suga blinks, rapidly, as if he’s realizing something. “Thanks.” And then he takes the cupcake, hiding it in his jacket. Namjoon expects him to leave, but Suga’s biting down on his lip, like he has something to say. “You know, you really weren’t taking up my time. I write music for a living,” he says. “And I...had fun, too.”

 

Namjoon can literally feel all the oxygen in his lungs being sucked out, like Suga’s words are a vacuum. Haha, there’s _no way_ Suga just said _it was fun to work with him_ , there’s _no way_ \--

 

“So. On Monday, I’m free again. If you wanted to write some more,” Suga clears his throat, and he’s looking Namjoon square in the eye. “And, also Tuesday, Wednesday, and, uh, Thursday and Friday.”

 

“Yes,” Namjoon nods, a little too enthusiastically. But _hey_ \-- who is he to say no to a _week long writing session with Suga_? “That sounds…” Incredible? Life-fulfilling? Like everything that Namjoon’s every needed in life? “...great!”

 

“Mhm,” Suga hums. “You’ll call me?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll figure out a time. Times, I guess,” Namjoon agrees, and he can barely hear his own voice over the pounding of his heart.

 

“Alright,” Suga nods, and he drums his fingers against the handles of his bike. “Good night, then, Namjoon.”

 

“G’night,” Namjoon echoes, and then Suga’s off, driving out of sight.

 

Namjoon stays glued to the spot, even when Suga’s long gone. That doesn’t qualify as normal, right? It’s not normal for millionaire producers to be invested in the lives of average college students. Right?

 

\--

 

As soon as the familiar sound of the garage clicking shut bounces off the walls, Suga hangs his helmet on his bike.

 

He’s checking his phone for the time, sliding out of his shoes, when he hears a voice calling out to him.

 

“So, that was Namjoon?”

 

It’s Jin, lying down on the couch and reading some novel Suga could care less about.

 

“That was Namjoon,” Suga concurs, letting himself fall onto the empty side of the couch. It’s quiet, for only a second, but he already knows exactly what Jin’s about to say.

 

“Are you dating him yet?” Jin inquires, rolling onto his side to look right at Suga.

 

Suga slumps over, folding his arms. “No. I met him three weeks ago.” But does next week count as dates? Suga doubts it; shoves that possibility off to be pondered later.

 

“But,” Jin purses his lips. “You want to date him.”

 

Suga musters his best shocked-disgusted expression and directs it right at Jin, who of course, barely flinches. “I -- ” Suga knows he has to choose his words carefully, because he can only lie so much; to both Jin and himself. “I barely know him.”

 

“Please don’t tell yourself that’s what’s stopping you,” Jin sighs, looking at him with that ridiculous, disapproving look, the one that he uses to try and guilt people into telling the truth (it’s stupid, because half the time, it works).

 

“That’s not what’s stopping me,” Suga says dryly. _Not by a long shot, it isn’t_ , he says to himself. “I can’t exactly just shove under the rug what I am.”

 

Jin’s expression turns sympathetic, and of course he understands. But what he tells Suga next isn’t anything Suga would expect to hear him say.

 

“Well, maybe, just this once, you could,” Jin murmurs, and his voice is so soft it barely reaches Suga’s ears. “Y’know, I’ve never seen you look at anyone like you did at him. In all the thirteen years I’ve known you.” And then he’s prodding Suga’s knee with a sock-covered toe. “Don’t be afraid of what you can’t control.”

 

That’s not exactly what Suga’s afraid of (who said anything about being afraid? Suga’s _terrified_ ), but sure; that’s what he’ll blame for causing the nagging, burning distress crawling in his skin. He doesn’t respond, just lets his eyes fall shut.

 

“Oh, I left the sharpies on the counter. Just in case you wanted to draw in Taehyung’s eyebrows,” Jin smiles warmly, now rhythmically tapping Suga’s shoulder with his heel.

 

Suga snorts, but his attention’s all on the mint cupcake, sitting in the box in his lap. “Yeah,” he sighs. “That’d teach him, huh.”

 

Jin falls asleep after an hour of little pieces of small talk, Suga listening more than saying anything, and Suga drapes a thick blanket over him before leaving for his bedroom (what is this, Hotel Suga?). When he dims the lights, he swears he hears Jin mumble “Use condoms, sleep well,” and he doesn’t look back to check if he’s even awake or not.

 

Suga’s lying on his back, dressed in his night clothes, but he finds himself unable to find sleep Even with Suga’s own original classical pieces playing a soft lullaby through his bedroom speakers, muffling Taehyung’s snoring from a few rooms over, and even with the night breeze filtering through the window, Suga can’t sleep.

 

Namjoon’s cupcake box is resting open on his nightstand. The cupcake was good; _really_ good -- sharp on his tongue, clearing up his sinuses. The aftertaste still lingers in his mouth, identical to how the memory of Namjoon still remains so clear in his head.

 

And then it hits him -- that’s why he can’t sleep; it’s _Namjoon._

 

Suga stares at his phone for a straight fight minutes, debating whether or not he should text Namjoon. It’s ten, and he’s not sure if he’d be waking Namjoon up or not.

 

Eventually, Suga berates himself for being so annoyingly indecisive (really; it’s just a fucking text) and types out a short _Thanks for the cupcake._ But then, he realizes that’s a terrible idea; Suga wouldn’t appreciate it if he was woken up from a nap just to be told _Thanks for the food_ , and he’s pretty sure Namjoon wouldn’t either.

 

So, instead, he types out a more reasonable text, and hits send, plugging his phone into its charger and closing his eyes. _Text me about how your piece goes; I hope it does well_ , is what his text reads.

 

He only gets about thirty seconds of shut eye, before he sits back upright, picking his phone back up to add in a swift, _And thanks for the cupcake, it was really good._

 

And with _that_ out of the way, Suga is free to sleep.

 

Before he does, though, he wonders if he’s just screwed up Namjoon’s first project. Yeah, Suga knows he’s a great fucking producer, it’s obvious, but some teachers are just fucking  idiotic. Who _knows_ what the fuck they’ll think of the piece.

 

But Suga hasn’t had that much fun writing with someone for a long time. A real, honestly enjoyable time with someone; where it’s comfortable, and he can laugh without wondering if he’s offended some rich bitch’s feelings for pointing out a few, simple, flaws.

 

Suga can still remember the way that Namjoon looked after he pulled his helmet off, his hair all frizzy and framing his hair in just the right way to send Suga right over the edge. He remembers the way Namjoon would laugh, all bashful and shy, how his face would turn a few shades of pink whenever Suga praised him ( _god_ , Suga didn’t want to stop telling him how good his piece was turning out), and how he nodded furiously every time he was suggested an edit.

 

Suga falls asleep smiling, wide and uncontrollable, like a true idiot. He can’t recall the last time he’s ever done such a stupid thing.

 

\--

 

It’s dark and depressing, huddled up so close to the window. At least, from here, he can see the city lights; an array of popping flashes and shimmering, neon signs that normally lifts his spirits.

 

But tonight, he can barely muster up even a smile.

 

“Hey,” comes the sing-song voice of his friend. He makes room at the sill, moving to the side when he feels a hand on his.

 

“Why’re you being so depressed? You’ve been like this all day,” his friend sighs, dropping down next to him, pressing their legs together.

 

He looks his friend over, and he isn’t really all that surprised to see the gleeful glint highlighting his soft, brown, irises.

 

“You know me well enough to know why,” he mumbles, but there’s no real bite to it. Not like he can be angry at him; he doesn’t even think he’s capable of it.

 

“You wound me, Jacks,” his friend gasps, a hand placed over his chest, right where his heart beats strong. And then his friend laughs. “Kidding. You could never hurt me.”

 

Jackson lets his legs slide out from under his arms, lets them relax over his friend’s own thighs. His friend pats his knees, and Jackson can feel him looking right at him.

 

“Stop being such a downer. The Jackson I know can shake anything and everything off,” his friend pouts, playing with a stray string in Jackson’s torn pants. “You know he’s doing this for a reason. You can’t get your head lost in the clouds like this.”

 

“I know,” Jackson says with a sigh, and he grinds his molars together. He’s _frustrated_ ; this is just so -- so fucking _unfair_. He digs his nails into his palms, feeling perspiration forming on his knuckles. “Is it really a crime to be conversational, though?” he laughs weakly, staring out the window. He wishes he could see the stars, but the sky is just as depressing as Jackson right now; clouded, overcast.

 

His friend intertwines their fingers together, and Jackson lets him. “You know that’s not why he’s doing this,” his friend says comfortingly, and then he squeezes Jackson’s hand. “I’m always here to talk,” his friend smiles, always so eager to help.

 

“I know that, too,” Jackson mumbles, but there’s a lack of confidence in his voice.

 

Jackson migrates to the bed after what must have been half an hour of just sitting and wasting his time being upset. _What a waste_ , he thinks, because there are so many other things he could be doing -- all so much more important, so much more _enjoyable_.

 

“Just one more week, okay? Then you can see if you can patch stuff up,” his friend says from the sill. Jackson nods, fingers wrapped into tight fists against the mattress.

 

Jackson can’t help but feel... _guilty_ , as he drifts off to sleep, and he can’t help but remember how he made the decision to _stay_ , even though he _knew_ he’d be missing those meetings. It was shitty and kind of out of _really_ out of line -- but Jackson knows that he’d _never_ regret all that time he’d spent. He’d felt so -- so fucking _happy_ , in the kind of way he hadn’t felt for _years_ . And he’d felt happy with _him_ ; with _someone else_. He smiles fondly, wondering what it would be like just to see him smile once more, maybe hear his laugh a little.

 

Except, Jackson can’t rewind time, and he’s already fucked it up.

 

He falls asleep with clenched teeth, blood flowing slow. It has to be the worst night he’s had in months.

 

♪

 

 


	2. "Living in a perpetual state of confusion is my passion"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Namjoon finds stuff out -- about others, and? Also himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, it's me, here with an update :0 hope that you all had a nice two weeks ! or, if you're a new reader, that you didn't try and read this all in one go, please make sure you rest well ;; either way, hello !! 
> 
> and also, i'd really like to thank you all for choosing pick this piece up or even pay it any mind ?? i'm still shocked to see that there are people interested at all, really. thank you all so so much, i'll work hard to make sure i don't disappoint ;; you're all fantastic, and if i could transfer cookies via internet, i most certainly would send you all twenty each, like, no joke, you're the best ❤❤❤ 
> 
> **a quick note:** so !! this chapter is around 42k words !! and i ! sincerely apologize ! i am awful at chapter cutting; believe me, my beta and i tried to work things out. i really am sorry if the flow of this chapter is jarred or too lengthy ! i strongly suggest taking breaks every now and then, please take care of your eyes ;; future chapters will be around this length, and again, i give my most sincere apologies ;;
> 
> also, i have decided to update on fridays (even though it says i posted today, saturday, i really did mean to update on friday night ;;), to save some the trouble of having to read for a while at night before weekdays. either way, i still apologize if i cause any lost sleep ;;
> 
>  **content notes:** the most important thing you need to know is still that namjoon is a v cute and tol barista slash college student, protect this wonderful nerd pls.
> 
> i don't want to spoil too many things, but i guess you should know that you get to meet some more people ! and there is going to be plenty of flailing!namjoon, oh god, help this precious bean. 
> 
> **warnings:** there is a relatively small section that gives a very, _very_ brief mention of an injury, along with the mild mention of blood, but it is _not_ described in detail ! i can promise there will be absolutely no detailed gore in the future. other than that, you shouldn't have anything to be worried about ! 
> 
> but enough from me -- please enjoy this second chapter ! 'v'

 

♪

 

When Namjoon rises from the dead at nine in the morning, he’s greeted with the scent of food wafting in from the kitchen, meaning -- Hobi’s home?

 

Namjoon drags himself out of bed, not bothering to check the time, because why is Hoseok still here? Usually, on weekends, he has morning dance practices or brunch get-together’s with his dance crew. Maybe he’s off today?

 

“Hobi?” Namjoon yawns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he steps into the kitchen. Said dancer is humming to some tune Namjoon can’t say he recognizes, at the stove and making breakfast.

 

Hoseok stops humming, pausing to turn and look at Namjoon. His face lights up with a grin, and Namjoon will never cease to be amazed at how someone can be so genuinely happy in the morning.

 

“Morning, Joon! Making breakfast right now, it’s almost ready, go sit,” Hoseok waves, before returning to making whatever he’s making. It’s probably pancakes; there are syrup bottles and whipped cream neatly organized on the table.

 

“You slept like a rock last night. Came right through the door and fell flat on your face. On your bed, of course, but still,” Hoseok tells Namjoon as he takes a seat. “You weren’t doing any drugs, or anything illegal yesterday, right?”

 

“What? No, no,” Namjoon scowls, almost offended (he doesn’t even know what alcohol tastes like, and he sure as hell doesn’t know what drugs taste like). “I guess I just, uh, had a long day.” To be honest, a _divine_ and _once-in-a-lifetime_ type of day would be a much better way to describe it, but hey, Namjoon isn’t a morning person.

 

There’s noise from the kitchen, Hoseok must be shuffling around the pans, and then he’s sitting across from Namjoon, and -- yep, those were pancake that he was making. Namjoon reaches for the agave syrup, about to dig in, but he hesitates when he catches the wary look Hoseok is throwing him. “Didn’t you sleep in until, like, really late yesterday, too?” Hobi asks, cautious.

 

“Yeah. Well. Maybe my body’s just catching up on sleep,” Namjoon mumbles, taking the syrup in hand. “I do work until eleven, you know.”

 

At that, Hoseok seems to drop the subject, and thankfully, doesn’t bother Namjoon about it any further, instead picking another topic to snipe at.

 

“Fine, but who were you with yesterday? I know Jinyoung was hanging out with his friend pretty much all day, so it couldn't have been him,” Hoseok squints at Namjoon, and -- well, Namjoon doesn't really see the point in delaying the truth any longer. And he’ll even get to ask about Hoseok’s long-kept secret.

 

“I made a...friend, at work. One of my regulars,” Namjoon begins slowly, because there’s no doubt that Hoseok’s about to flip his fucking shit.

 

“Perfect!” Hoseok claps, and _well_ , is he in for a surprise. Hoseok brings a leg up on his chair, swaying side to side. “Who? And did you share my cupcakes with this mystery friend? I hope you did; y’know I hate it whenever you eat alone.”

 

Namjoon sets his fork down onto the table, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “So. I know you know Suga. The producer Suga,” he says, voice muffled through the material of his napkin.

 

“Yeah, Gloss, your idol -- wow, I can’t believe you’re pronouncing his name right; finally. Why?” Hoseok nos, gnawing on a chunk of pancake (so he knew this whole time that it was pronounced shoo-gah and he _didn’t tell Namjoon_ ).

 

“He goes to the Starbucks I work at,” Namjoon says.

 

“ _What_?!” Hoseok splutters, eyes wide, and Namjoon’s surprised he doesn’t send his pancakes flying. “Isn’t he one of your number one role models? Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Namjoon smiles wide. “Funny you say that, because I was just about to ask you why you didn’t tell me you were in a relationship with someone by the name of Taehyung,” he clips, arms folded.

 

Hoseok freezes, going absolutely stock still, and for a second Namjoon’s afraid he’s not breathing. Namjoon almost feels bad, but then again, he remembers Hoseok saying this -- whatever it is that’s going on between him and this Taehyung, has been going on for two months.

 

And then Hoseok’s...laughing.

 

“Ahah, yeah, that’s a thing. Guess I’ve kind of been holding out on you,” Hoseok says, ever-so casually, and -- _fuck_ , that didn’t have the effect Namjoon had wanted. “But hey, I asked _you_ about your stuff first, so you have to answer before I answer you. I can answer any and all questions after…” he glances at his phone, before looking back to Namjoon with a grin. “Twenty minutes!”

 

Unsurprisingly, Namjoon does not, in fact, spend a full twenty minutes talking about Suga, but a full half an hour and six minutes. And, in retrospect, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, because he figures that he’s probably just given Hoseok more ammo to fuck with him than he ever intended to. But really; everything just kinda...came tumbling out (but _man_ Hoseok is never going to let go of Namjoon talking about Suga’s eyes and hair). At least Hobi didn’t interrupt him at all; that’s what’s nice about the guy.

 

“I’m never going to let go of the fact that you payed _that much_ attention to Suga’s _eyes and hair_ ,” Hoseok says, true to Namjoon’s prediction, and Namjoon does his best not to glare.

 

“Yeah, yeah, now it’s been twenty minutes, time for _you_ to talk,” Namjoon sighs, scratching at the back of his neck.

 

Depressingly, Hoseok doesn’t seem frightened in the slightest at the prospect of a questionnaire concerning his love(?) life. In fact, he brings both his legs up onto his chair, sitting in a criss-cross position, and Namjoon has a terrible feeling that he’s actually prepared for literally everything Namjoon’s about to ask him.

 

“Sure. Shoot -- I’ll answer anything,” Hoseok grins, and Namjoon would punch him in his brilliant teeth if he wasn’t his childhood friend and flatmate.

 

“When and how did you meet him. Taehyung, I mean,” Namjoon leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

 

Hoseok actually cracks his knuckles, looking too confident for Namjoon to be comfortable. “Exactly two months, three weeks and two days ago, around four in the afternoon,” he says coolly, and _god_ , the nightmare seems to just be beginning. “I actually met him while I was running from class to class. He almost ran me over, haha, I probably would have died if he hadn’t screamed right in my ear. I wasn’t paying attention, though, so I guess it was pretty much my fault.”

 

Namjoon vaguely remembers Hoseok mentioning something about dodging a bullet two months ago, but he doesn’t recall if Hoseok specifically stated that a motorcycle was involved (certainly, he remembers that Hoseok didn’t say _anything_ about Taehyung).

 

“And then, after that, I kept seeing him all over campus. He actually tried talking to me a lot, after classes were done -- it was really cute! He reminded me of you back in middle school, only taller and less serious,” Hoseok chuckles, and his eyes have this glossy, dreamy look Namjoon doesn’t think he’s ever seen on him (okay, well, maybe he’s seen that look whenever he’s eating dessert, but never when he’s talking about...people).

 

“Hey, I wasn’t _that_ serious,” Namjoon says begrudgingly. He may have been unable to take a couple of jokes in his middle school days, but it was never _that_ bad.

 

“Yeah, you were. You were dorky, too,” Hoseok says, pointing at Namjoon.

 

“Thanks,” Namjoon says flatly.

 

“Anyways, I saw him when I was working -- imagine that! He came in five minutes after I started my shift. He bought like, ten cupcakes, I think, all different flavors,” Hoseok presses on, and he’s talking like it’s no big deal, like it’s fine that Namjoon never knew _any of this_.

 

“Did you...did you ever stop to think that maybe he followed you to work from school?” Namjoon asks slowly, because the thought of that is...actually kind of creepy.

 

Hoseok shrugs. “I guess. Or, now that I think about it, that sounds kind of cute, haha!”

 

Namjoon just stares. _Don’t judge,_ he tells himself, _don’t judge._

 

“He started coming in every day after that. Always asked for different things, and then when he ran out of stuff to buy, he asked if I wanted to date him. And, logically, I said yes, because he was so nice,” Hoseok says crisply, sounding reminiscent, and Namjoon hopes he can see the look of disbelief he’s sending his way.

 

“What? Why haven’t I ever heard of this? Any of this! Nothing! At all,” Namjoon says in frustration. He almost wants to slam his fist on the table, but he’s more exasperated than angry. Hoseok never leaves Namjoon out of the loop (i.e., Hoseok told Namjoon when he had lost his virginity, literally the day after he lost it).

 

“Because I love you,” Hoseok states plainly, and -- no.

 

“Isn’t that supposed to mean you _would_ tell me?” Namjoon groans, tempted to roll his eyes. He’s known Hoseok for more than ten years, and he still doesn’t understand how his mind functions.

 

“No, no, I mean, I wanted to make sure you didn’t get stuck in stuff you didn’t need to be involved in,” Hoseok amends, his tone turning a little serious, and Namjoon sees him slouch in his chair just the slightest inch. “Taetae’s...in a gang. I didn’t want you to get caught up in that.”

 

And, well -- funny Hoseok says that, because Namjoon’s pretty fucking sure he’s friends with two gang members, both from separate parties, and he serves them coffee and talks with them every Friday night.

 

“I swear I was gonna tell you, I just didn’t know how it’d really…” Hoseok purses his lips, all traces of humor in his voice gone. His eyes fall downcast, and Namjoon can’t help but feel guilty, a pang of sympathy ringing out in the cavity of his chest.

 

“Well...if it helps, um, I may or may not be more fucked than you,” Namjoon purses his lips, trying to think of anything to say to lighten the mood.

 

Hoseok looks up, an eyebrow quirked, interest obviously snagged.

 

“I may, uh, may or may not be super close to two gang members who aren’t even from the same gang,” Namjoon swallows, and he doesn’t know whether or not this decision to tell Hoseok this is exponentially regretful or just...right.

 

Both of Hoseok’s eyebrows are high on his forehead now. “What? Who?” he blinks, back straightening.

 

“Well, you know Jackson.” Namjoon says, and he finds himself smiling fondly at the memory of the platinum blonde’s shrill laughter, his black leather jacket, and endless will to talk about anything. He feels his smile falter, though, when he remembers Blondie, who seemed to have some kind of axe to grind with Namjoon (although, it’s just a theory; Namjoon doesn’t know anything about the guy other than his smile is creepy, and that he’s acquainted with Jackson).

 

Hoseok nods, eyebrows beginning to tent, and he actually looks kind of -- concerned.

 

“And also...Suga,” Namjoon finishes. It’s kind of weird to think Namjoon’s so close to someone so authoritative, but also...quiet. But it’s nice to think about the way Suga silently mouthed Namjoon’s lyrics, soundless, yet absolutely understandable.

 

Hoseok looks shell-shocked, kind of like he had when Namjoon first told him he’d stopped taking afternoon classes. It’s not really a look Namjoon sees on him often.

 

“You’re _really_ dating two gang members? From two different gangs?” Hoseok gawks, and! No! _No!_ Where is everyone getting this idea that Namjoon is dating anyone? First, Jinyoung, then Taehyung, then Jin, and now _Hoseok._ Namjoon isn’t ever going to get a break, is he?

 

“No! Why does _everyone say that?_ ” Namjoon wails, running his hands through his bangs.

 

“Uh, duh, because you made it sound like you were,” Hoseok gives a short shrug of his shoulders, like it’s just the most _obvious_ thing ever. “But either way, gonna admit that is some really deep shit you’ve just pulled yourself into.”

 

“Yeah, well, aren’t Taehyung and Suga in the same gang? That’s a plus, isn’t it?” Namjoon mumbles, jaw rested in his palms. He’s hoping that it’s really a plus, he’s just grasping at straws now.

 

Hoseok blinks, like he’s doesn’t understand him. Which is weird, because...wouldn’t...Hoseok know about Suga (come to think of it, he’s surprised he didn’t react to the name like this earlier, when Namjoon had first mentioned Suga)?

 

“You know -- Suga? Mint green hair? Serious expression?” Namjoon bites at his lip, wondering if that’ll jog his memory.

 

“Yeah, yeah, you described him plenty fifteen minutes ago. I just -- don’t remember Taetae mentioning a Suga in their gang,” Hoseok waves a hand, sounding confused, lost.

 

“What? But I could have sworn -- ” Namjoon doesn’t finish his sentence. He _does_ remember Suga saying that Taehyung was just a really close friend -- maybe that’s all they are. Maybe Suga’s just trying to emulate his friend’s punk-ish image? And besides, it’s not like Suga, a big-time, successful, incredibly talented producer (with that awesome as hell house), would have the time for gang stuff -- right?  

 

“Tell you what: I can ask Taetae tomorrow. I see him everyday, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” Hoseok smiles, placing the flat of his palms against his knees.

 

Namjoon shakes his head -- he really shouldn’t overthink things, because when he does, usually Bad Things™ ensue. “No, it’s okay. I guess I just looked into it too much,” he says, and then he narrows his eyes. “Wh -- you see this guy everyday?”

 

Hoseok laughs, and the way he covers his mouth with his palm sort of reminds him of Taehyung last night, making fun of Suga. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please stop guilting me, it’s going to give the both of us cold sores,” he snorts, eyes bright and pleading.

 

Namjoon finds himself laughing a little, too. At least they both have things to poke fun at with each other now.

 

\--

 

When Namjoon’s found himself back in bed, ready to crash into a four hour nap, he decides to check his phone. Maybe he could text Jackson, just drop a random hello -- he didn’t look all too happy at the end of that game (maybe thanks to Blondie, but, again -- it’s just a theory).

 

But when he taps the power button, he’s greeted with a text message, from none other than _Suga_.

 

After opening his phone at the speed of light, he reads that it’s actually not one, but _two_ messages.

 

 _From ;_ **_♫_ ** _MY LIFE_ ♬ _; 10:54 p.m._

_Text me how your piece goes; I hope it does well._

 

 _From ;_ **_♫_ ** _MY LIFE_ ♬ _; 10:55 p.m._

_And thanks for the cupcake, it was really good._

 

Namjoon almost can’t believe his eyes (it’s just -- Namjoon doesn’t gets texts from a rich and famous person -- who _just so happens to be one of Namjoon’s idols_ \-- everyday. _Suga was right_ , Namjoon thinks, _there’s definitely a first for everything._

 

He doesn’t wait long to thumb in a reply, rolling around his bed like a toddler tumbling around in snow for the first time.

 

 _To ;_ **_♫_ ** _MY LIFE_ ♬ _; 10:48 a.m._

_yea for sure. thx so much for helping me again! and i’m glad you liked the cupcakes i’ll try and bring more_

 

Namjoon tries to stay awake from then on, zealously awaiting a reply, but passes out well into the first five minutes of doing nothing (nothing but daydreaming, if Namjoon’s really being honest).

 

\--

 

Blanket Kick turns out to be the most well-received piece Namjoon’s ever written.

 

Well, _collaborated,_ because there’s no way he can avoid crediting Suga. But he’s not sure if Suga actually wants his teacher to know he, a world famous producer, helped edit his work, so he avoids telling his instructor outright, _I worked with one of my idols! You know, that one producer guy that’s fucking amazing!_

 

After his teacher’s watches him rap, eyes wide, tapping his foot and nodding his head like he was really getting into the beat, and has asked if Namjoon had help, Namjoon laughed nervously and said he’d had a friend (more like god himself) pitch in to fix up the whole piece.

 

His teacher (disappointingly) doesn’t grade it that day, but he does shower Namjoon with many _Bravo_ ’s and _I’m very proud to see how far you’ve come_ ’s. And when Namjoon asks, his teacher tells him (in a very pleased voice, shoulders pushed back) that Namjoon’s on the right path forward.

 

Naturally, as soon as class is out, Namjoon’s attacking his phone, composing a message to convey to Suga just how fucking thrilled he is. His heart is pounding as he makes his way across campus, footsteps light, because -- fuck, this is just so fucking _great_.

 

 _To ;_ **_♫_ ** _MY LIFE_ ♬ _; 10:00 a.m._

 _my coach really really liked the piece!!! he said that he was really looking forward to the rest of the album. i can’t thank you enough is there any way i can repay you? i_ _feel like i could give you more than just a cupcake_

 

Namjoon doesn’t really expect Suga to answer right away (he’s more than likely working), and he tries to put it out of his mind as he drives to ensure that he doesn’t run a red light. So he’s a little surprised (but definitely fucking _thrilled_ , because _hey_ ) when he hears the chime of his phone as he pulls up in the parking lot for his complex (you bet your ass he checked that shit real quick).

 

 _From ;_ **_♫_ ** _MY LIFE_ ♬ _; 10:06 a.m._

_I’m glad your piece did well. Are you free today?_

 

Namjoon replies instantly --

 

_To ; MY LIFE ; 10:06 a.m._

_o yea hold on i’ll call you_

 

Namjoon hits the call button without a second thought (it’d be easier and also faster to sort things out verbally, right?). He breaks into a smile when he hears the other line pick up.

 

“ _Namjoon?_ ” Suga’s voice sounds just as it had on Saturday, only a tad scratchier.

 

“Hey -- oh, I’m not bothering you right now, am I?” Namjoon asks, because he’s not even sure if Suga’s working or not.

 

 _“No, it’s fine,”_ Suga says, before there’s a pause (Namjoon swears he heard him talking to someone; maybe it was Taehyung, or Jin?). “ _So what did you need?_ ”

 

“Oh, I’m, ah, actually free right now. My shift starts at four today, so if you’re working, Tuesday’s good too,” Namjoon says, clearing his throat as tries to work out times in his surprisingly open schedule. He wants to say Wednesday is a good time, but he’ll have to check with Jinyoung when and where Jackson’s basketball game is --

 

“ _I’m not working right now --_ ”

 

“ _Here are the condoms!_ ”

 

And Namjoon almost drops his phone, because _what the fuck_ ? But then his mind tells him, no, that was _not_ Suga that just screamed about the whereabouts of condoms. In fact, it kind of sounded like...Jungkook. Or Jimin. Or...both?

 

Namjoon hears a kind of static sound, like Suga’s covering the cell phone’s mic with his hand, what sounds like yelling, and then some more muffled noises before Suga’s talking again.

 

“ _I’m sorry, I was passing by two drunks_ ,” Suga says, sounding a little terse (is that laughter that Namjoon’s hearing in the background?). “ _I’m not working today, though. I can actually come and pick you up right now._ ”

 

“Oh, sure. Um, I can drive over, I don’t want to make you go further out of your way,” Namjoon blinks, glancing down at his wheel. His car’s still on; he could probably just ask for Suga’s address and make his way over from there.

 

“ _No, it’s fine. Where are you right now?_ ” Suga responds, crisp.

 

“I’m at my apartment. I’ll be waiting outside, where you dropped me off,” Namjoon says, before getting the fuck out of his car, because he needs to make sure he doesn’t look like complete fucking shit (what would Suga think if he saw Namjoon like _this_?).

 

“ _I’ll be over in fifteen_ ,” Suga says.

 

“Great; I’ll see you then!” Namjoon says, a little shrill, and is already sprinting toward the building entrance. He has to at least sure his hair looks _decent_ with the little hair gel Namjoon has used this morning.

 

“ _See you then_ ,” Suga echoes, and there’s the click of him hanging up.

 

Namjoon’s not sure if he should be glad that Hoseok’s not present in the apartment when he swings the door open. Probably glad, because Suga’s gonna be here in _two minutes_ , and he needs to get his shit together _fast_. Hoseok would undoubtedly pepper Namjoon with approximately fifty eight questions all at once, and Namjoon doesn’t know if he can handle that while trying to fix his mess of a hairstyle.

 

He empties his lap top bag of the countless snacks he’s had stuffed away, grabbing a few spare pens and pencils, and then runs into the bathroom. He eyes himself in the mirror, doing his best to arrange his hair in a style that doesn’t scream ‘average college student’ too loud.

 

Once he’s slipped into a less beaten-up pair of white and red nikes, he and jogs his way out the door and toward the elevator. He only has to wait all of five minutes when he gets to ground floor, standing in the sunlight, because soon enough, he sees Suga driving up to the curb on his bike.

 

“Hi,” Namjoon greets, adjusting his cardigan as he makes his way over.

 

“Hey,” Suga says back, already slipping his helmet off, offering it to Namjoon. Namjoon mumbles a quick thanks, and as he lets it slide over his scalp, he can’t help but inhale deep, because Suga’s helmet smells...mintier?

 

“Got it?” Suga’s shifting on the motorcycle seat, and Namjoon hops on as soon as he stills. He nods, reaching his hands around Suga’s waist. He notices that Suga’s hair seems a little brighter; more...minty? Maybe that’s why Suga’s helmet smells a little mintier than before.

 

And then they’re off -- driving down the same way Namjoon remembers Suga used to drop him off. Namjoon’s actually able to look around this time, taking in the green blurs of shrubbery, and how the city buildings taper off into more suburban styles as they move toward the ocean, toward Suga’s place.

 

\--

 

Instead of a short two hours of serious, straight-faced writing (although, admittedly, the last session wasn’t _that_ serious), Namjoon ends up passing a total of _five_ hours in the studio with Suga. Namjoon’s fairly certain that, although a majority of that time was indeed spent on writing his next piece, he also spent a total of at least _two hours_ laughing about -- _anything_ ; just joking around about the dumbest shit.

 

It kinda started when Namjoon asked about Suga’s work, asking how he collaborated with idols, and Suga went on a goddamn _steam roll_ session when he brought up the name Hyuna (Namjoon lost count of all the _Fuck’s_ and _Shit’s_ after just a handful of seconds). And Namjoon probably found way too much entertainment in the way Suga bitterly recounted a session with an underground rapper, how he had called them a cheeky brat that couldn’t understand figurative language for shit.

 

Namjoon probably would’ve let even more time slip away if Suga hadn’t received a text from someone (Taehyung? Namjoon thinks that’s the name he saw).

 

“You said that your shift started at four, right?” Suga’s reading over the text, typing in a reply.

 

“Oh -- oh, shit, yeah, it does. Um, what time is it?” Namjoon swallows thickly. _Fuck_ ; he’d barely noticed the time flying right out the window, too caught up with writing -- too caught with _Suga._

 

“Two-fifty,” Suga shuts his phone off, quickly pocketing it and sitting upright in his seat. “Did you need to leave soon?”

 

 _No_ , Namjoon thinks, _I think I’d much rather ditch work to talk with you than slave away until eleven_ . “I...guess. Yeah. Um. Sure,” Namjoon ends up mumbling instead, because Suga _must_ have other, _better_ things to be doing. Namjoon would love to spend more time with him, maybe even just talk over food, drink what must be their fifth round of milkshakes and just relax -- but Namjoon’s been here for _five hours_. And really, Namjoon’s just glad he was able to see Suga again at all.

 

When Namjoon’s gathered up his stuff, has passed by a sleeping Jimin and Jungkook spooning on the living room couch, he realizes that Suga never answered him when he asked if he could repay him. Yeah, it was five hours ago, but _hey_ \-- this is important.

 

“Hey, you, ah, never said anything about me paying you back. I owe you one, so, um, maybe I can buy you something,” Namjoon speaks up, as Suga’s standing by his bike, checking his handles for something.

 

Suga pauses, blinking, and then he looks up at Namjoon. He looks a little...confused? It’s hard to tell; he’s hiding his expression pretty well, like he always seem to do.

 

“Like what?” Suga asks, and -- oh. Well. Uh. Namjoon actually isn’t so sure himself.

 

“I...dunno. I was thinking food, maybe. I don’t have a ton of money on me right now, but I can probably pick up something for you,” Namjoon shrugs, and really, he doesn’t have a ton of money on him _ever,_ but all that Suga needs to know right now is that Namjoon has thirty dollars in cash in his wallet. “You pick,” he adds, because it really should be Suga’s choice.

 

Suga looks off to the side, thoughtful. Namjoon knows that Suga is at least sensible enough not to request anything ridiculously expensive, but he wonders if there's even anything Suga wants that Namjoon’s capable of buying. His wallet can only take so many financial hits.

 

“There's a luxury ice cream place that opened a couple of weeks back. You...want to try it?” Suga says, finally meeting Namjoon’s gaze.

 

“Sure! Sounds good to me,” Namjoon says with a grin (because hey! Ice cream!), and Suga nods, looking over his bike once more before he's handing Namjoon his helmet.

 

“You, ah, have anything in mind that you want?” Namjoon says, waiting until Suga’s seated before clambering on behind him and reaching his hands around his waist.

 

“Nothing big. I'll see when we get there,” Suga gives a half shrug, and then he glances back at Namjoon. “I'm not going to ask for anything expensive, if that's what you're worried about.”

 

“Good. Because I'm pretty sure I only have thirty bucks,” Namjoon says, laughing a little.

 

Suga starts up his bike, and Namjoon ( _reflexively_ ) huddles a little closer. “I can help pay if you want something expensive,” Suga says, then raising a foot onto his bike. “Ready?”

 

Namjoon nods. “Yup. And hey, _no_ \-- I'm paying. I'm the one that's supposed to be paying _you_ back,” he frowns.

 

“We'll see,” Suga hums, and then kicks off.

 

This time, they end up driving somewhere Namjoon’s actually never been around. He can tell it's a wealthier side of the city, given how goddamn _clean_ everything is (and there are those weird public art sculptures everywhere). Namjoon thinks he passed by a store with the name Olivine; the same brand Suga’s ruined sweater was.

 

“Here we are,” Suga says, slowing down, and holy _shit_ \-- the place they’ve stopped at looks like some five star fucking restaurant, but it’s just a fucking _ice cream parlour._

 

Namjoon’s kind of freaking out when Suga’s stopped, pulling up and sticking the kick stand out, because yeah, he might have thirty bucks, but what if everything here is thirty bucks a piece? Like, come _on_ \-- Namjoon can see fucking _fountains_ and shit in there (and it’s just a fucking _ice cream parlour_ , what the _fuck_ ).

 

“You’ve...never been here?” Namjoon asks, hopping off the bike and starting after Suga. He tries to get a quick look at the menu, squinting, but the font is way to small to read anything from his current distance.

 

“No, it opened two Mondays ago,” Suga shakes his head, already heading toward the shop. He opens the door for Namjoon, waiting for him to enter before following.

 

Namjoon feels kind of small when he steps inside -- not just because the ceilings high up, but because everything’s shiny and polished; almost pearly. There are miniature succulents, planted in little glass bubbles, suspended in the air, and woah -- Namjoon’s never seen chairs like _those_.

 

And then there’s Suga, who looks just like he always has; complacent and a little tired. But of course he would; he probably visits places like these (as in, expensive, college student-free outlets) all the time.

 

“So what did you want?” Namjoon asks, trying not to think too hard about the size of his own wallet as he stares down the choices on the menu. Surprisingly, the menu items are pretty simple -- some milkshakes, smoothies, and (obviously) ice cream. In fact, the most complicated item looks to be a banana split.

 

Suga’s looking over the menu himself, and Namjoon is wordlessly begging him not to pick anything in large size, please no, _please no_ \--

 

“Just a cone. One scoop is fine,” Suga finally says, and Namjoon sighs quietly in relief, because _thank god._

 

“Mm, lemme guess; mint?” Namjoon peers over at Suga, and is pleased to see that he’s successfully made him smile a little, laugh even.

 

“Of course,” Suga says back. Namjoon finds that he likes it when Suga looks contented like that, smiling soft, calm.

 

Namjoon decides he’ll just get a single scoop cone himself (of strawberry; duh) and slides up in front of the glass. After a second, someone steps out from the back -- a young lady with her hair tied into a high ponytail, the ends dip-dyed aquamarine, bright and flashy. Kind of reminds Namjoon of Suga’s own radiant hair color.

 

“Good afternoon!” she chirps with a starry grin, clapping her hands together -- Wendy, is what her nametag reads. “What can I get started for the two of you?”

 

“Um, two single scoop waffle cones. One mint, the other strawberry,” Namjoon says, biting at his lip as he points to both flavors.

 

“Okay, nothing else?” Wendy smiles, ice cream scooper in hand, looking to Namjoon, then to Suga expectantly.

 

“Nope, that’s it,” Namjoon shakes his head, reaching for the wallet. He’s already done the math in his head; it’s all sixteen dollars and fifty cents. As he gets his fingers on what he thinks is the twenty dollar bill, he glances down -- and he goes cold.

 

“Uh,” Namjoon says dumbly. That’s not a twenty dollar bill. That’s…a ten dollar bill. He searches frantically for the rest of the money but it’s? _Gone_? How the hell can he just _lose_ a _twenty dollar bill_.  


“What’s wrong?” Suga’s looking at Namjoon, brow cocked just slightly. _Shit, no, no no no_ \--

 

“I’m, um, short,” Namjoon says quietly, feeling his ears begin to burn. He’s found a five dollar bill at the bottom of his wallet, but ten plus five is _not_ sixteen, and Namjoon still has to worry about the extra change. Just. Fucking. _Perfect_.

 

Of course, _of course_ Suga reaches into his pocket without waiting to ask if Namjoon just wants to go somewhere else. Namjoon is real quick to disagree, because this is Namjoon’s turn to do something for Suga.

 

“Hey, no, this is my payment for you. I’m already, like, ten hours indebted to you; let me pay,” Namjoon says quickly, and he has a hand rested on top of Suga’s before he even realizes it. His heart flutters to life, giving one punctuated beat against his chest, before he gives a pat the skin of Suga’s knuckles and pulling away, hoping to relax him. “Um, can you take off the strawberry cone from my order? Sorry, I’m, uh, short.”

 

Wendy has the scoop of mint ready, shovelling it into the waffle cone, and she pauses. “Sure, no worries -- ”

 

“No, don’t take it off,” Suga says suddenly, wallet already in hand, pulling out what has to be a twenty dollar bill. “I’ve got it covered.”

 

“What? No, take it off,” Namjoon frowns, because this is _Suga’s_ treat; not Namjoon’s.

 

Suga glances at Namjoon before he pulls the twenty out. “It’s fine, I can pay.”

 

“No, it’s not fine, I’ve done like, nothing for you, ever. Except for make you coffee,” Namjoon protests, eyeing the money in Suga’s hand warily. “Seriously. This isn’t any skin off of my back.”

 

Suga’s quiet for a second, and Namjoon can tell he’s contemplating both choices, when he finally looks back to Namjoon and says. “Did you want to share?”

 

Namjoon blinks, a little surprised. “Oh, uh -- sure. As long as I’m paying,” he says, and Suga hums his agreement, and then looking over to Wendy, who’s waiting to hear their new order. “Can you make that cone a double scoop? With strawberry as the other scoop,” he says,

 

 _Success_ ! Namjoon tells himself. _You’re paying, Namjoon. Take that, rich people_.

 

“Sure thing,” Wendy says, and she’s quick to comply to the request (if Namjoon didn’t know better, it almost looks like she’s trying to hold in laughter as she reaches for the mint...).

 

Namjoon sighs, pulling out the money (the total’s only eight dollars, now) as he starts toward the counter. “Fuck, sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t bring all my money,” he says to Suga, apologetic. He doesn’t remember spending it on anything, so either Hoseok ‘borrowed’ his twenty and replaced it with something that _wasn’t_ a twenty, or Namjoon just plain fucking lost the money. And of course, of all the times that Namjoon loses anything, it has to be when he’s with _Suga_.

 

“Don’t be. You didn’t know you’d be paying for anything,” Suga sniffs, placing both his money and wallet back into his pocket.

 

And then Wendy’s at the register, handing them their cone, and -- hey, wait a second -- is that...whipped cream? And a cherry and chocolate sauce? Namjoon swears that toppings were separate, and he’s pretty sure he didn’t order any.

 

“So that’ll just be eight dollars,” Wendy’s ringing up their order before Namjoon can say anything, cone already in his hand (he _swears_ there’s even extra ice cream, too).

 

“Wait, uh, I don’t think I ordered the toppings,” Namjoon says, trying not to be too impressed with  how perfect the spherical shape of ice cream is (guess this place isn’t called a luxury ice cream parlour for nothing).

 

“You didn’t. I just gave you two a discount,” Wendy shrugs, and when Namjoon doesn’t say anything, she continues on to add, “You two are really cute together,” and she’s already holding her hand out for the money, but Namjoon’s about to fall over on his face, because _what the fuck --_

 

“Wh -- ” Namjoon practically chokes, but he doesn’t manage to finish his sentence, because Wendy’s taking the ten, and before he can even react, he realizes she slipped him the change during the exchange.

 

“Have a nice day!” Wendy sing songs, and she disappears behind the doors to the back before Namjoon can properly respond.

 

Namjoon glances over to Suga, who appears to be just as surprised as Namjoon -- but then again, it’s hard to read emotion on someone’s face when there is a whole lot of emotion showing to read.

 

And then Suga’s reaching over the glass to reach for two spoons, saying nothing. It’s when he sticks both utensils into the ice cream that he opens his mouth, but it’s just to say, “Thanks for the ice cream.”

 

“Y-yeah. No problem,” Namjoon nods, eyeing Suga’s fingers as they slip away.

 

“Want to sit outside?” Suga says, glancing at the couple of empty tables outside.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Namjoon nods, and follows Suga outside to the nearest table. When he stakes a seat, he realizes that there’s a stand for ice cream cones, and he sets their cone down once he makes himself comfortable.

 

There’s a soft breeze outside, pleasant, but not enough to make it completely freezing, and beneath his black cardigan, Namjoon’s skin feels warm as the sunlight reaches down from the sky. It’s quiet between them, as Suga sits across from him, and although it’s comfortable, Namjoon feels like he should say something --

 

“Oh, hey, how’s Taehyung? His ankle, I mean,” Namjoon says after a bite, and _damn_ , that has to be the best fucking ice cream he’s ever eaten, _shit_.

 

Suga snorts, resting his elbow on the table. “You should be more worried about his face than his ankle,” he says, reaching for his own spoon, and Namjoon laughs.

 

“Did you _actually_ shave his eyebrows off?” Namjoon asks, because really, Suga does seem like the type of person to stay true to their word (especially seeing how angry he could get).

 

“What eyebrows?” Suga frowns, pausing, and he says it so seriously that Namjoon starts to laugh again. “No, I didn’t. But he had to wash blue sharpie out of his eyebrows the other morning,” Suga says, and takes a bite from the ice cream.

 

“No way,” Namjoon says through a smile. “But yeah, yesterday, I was asking Hoseok -- the guy Taehyung’s so interested in, and apparently...they’re dating?”

 

“Believe me, I know,” Suga drawls. “I did the same thing yesterday.”

 

“Did he get embarrassed over it? Like, flustered and all that?” Namjoon reaches for another spoonful, and, ah -- dammit, he mixed the mint with the strawberry.

 

Suga smirks. “His face was redder than Jimin’s fucking hair three months ago,” he says breezily.

 

“Fuck, that’s not fair; Hoseok barely even binked when I brought it up. I’d give anything to see him look that freaked out,” Namjoon sighs. He can imagine Taehyung trying to hide his face, ears red, pretty clearly, and he wishes that Hoseok would have at least _seemed_ sorry when Namjoon had cornered him into telling the truth.

 

Suga shrugs, looking off to the side. “You could try threatening to shave his eyebrows off, too.”

 

“Hobi without eyebrows -- ” Namjoon stays sitting upright for half a second, before he bends forward, laughing, because _holy fuck_ \-- the image of Hoseok without eyebrows has to be the most _wrong_ thing he’s ever thought up. He can barely breathe, wiping at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

 

He thinks he sees Suga smiling, too, watching Namjoon with a soft grin that looks so much more than just content.

\--

 

Jackson doesn’t particularly like driving around this part of the city, but he hasn’t been able to think straight at all as of late (haha, _hilarious_ for a gay man to say). And also, it’s a relatively safe area for him to drive around in, especially since the sun’s still high in the sky.

 

It’s not that Jackson _hates_ this place -- he doesn’t even hate the richies that crash around these parts -- it’s just...he feels like he almost doesn’t belong. Everything’s prim and proper, organized and pretty, and some things are _way_ too symmetrical for his taste.

 

But hey, he said he’d be going for a cruise, because his leader had told him to _Cool it before you lose it_ , and that’s exactly what he’s trying (read: failing spectacularly at) right now. A drive by the beach led to this area; Jackson hadn’t really been paying attention to anything when he’d hooked that right.

 

The only real plus of his drive here is that no one’s gonna bother him about his probation (unless he’s been followed, which, honestly, wouldn’t be that huge of a surprise). Everything else is just too...subtle.

 

Like how it’s too quiet for Jackson to really relax, get into the swing of being alone, or how there are barely any people walking along the sidewalk, and even fewer passing by in their cars or bikes. The peace here is more unsettling than tranquil, in Jackson’s opinion.

 

Though Jackson’s not a hundred percent sure it’s that great of a thing, he’s been doing nothing but _think_ , as of late. Literally -- he sat on the common room floor, doing absolutely _nothing_ for a whole three hours on Sunday afternoon. He could’ve gone gushing to Zitao, maybe, but he wasn’t around to play therapist for Jackson’s troubles.

 

Jackson’s thought mostly about Namjoon -- he’s got his number, thanks to Jinyoung, who’d texted him on Saturday, saying, _Namjoon was wondering about the game, here’s his number so you can finally have someone that loves you_ (to which Jackson had quickly responded with _at least i have ppl that love me HA ok sorry that was rude ik ur mom loves u_ ). If only Jackson could actually fucking _call_ that number, or even just _text_ him.

 

Every now and then, Jackson would find himself scrolling through his contacts, staring at Namjoon’s contact name (“joonie the cutie;” because it’s fitting as hell), only to throw his phone on the nearest soft surface (followed by him yelling into the ground “fucking _fuck_ probation!”). So, in hindsight, there’s actually another plus about him driving -- he can’t look at his stupid phone.

 

And he’s this close -- _this ass fucking close_ \-- to actually relaxing, to cooling off just the _slightest_ bit, when the lord denies him of all things synonymous to the word ‘okay.’

 

He rounds the corner and what do you know -- it’s Joonie the Cutie, sitting outside that one Red Velvet ice cream parlour, eating ice cream. He actually feels a little spark of joy bubbling up in his gut, because probation can go _fuck itself_ , and is about to shout all the way across the street, “ _Hey barista boy_ !” when he remembers -- no. _No._ If anyone in his gang were to see him so much as _look_ at Namjoon, they’d fucking tattle on him in a half a seco --

 

\-- and _wait a second_ , is Namjoon...with someone?

 

Jackson would recognize those shiny mint bangs anywhere -- that’s the ever-silent _Suga_ , _what the fuck_ . Why is Namjoon hanging out with _him_ (more like, _how_ is he hanging out with him; Jackson barely ever sees the guy talk, and when he does, it’s either to say _No_ or _Fuck you_ )?

 

And then Jackson hears what he hasn’t heard in three days (read: _forever_ ) -- that bubbly laugh can’t belong to anyone but Namjoon. Except this time…

 

...it’s not Jackson that’s making him laugh.

 

Jackson doesn’t even care that he’s run a red fucking light; this is a goddamn _paradox_ (he almost checks to see if the sky is falling down). Namjoon can’t be laughing at something _Suga_ said, because a) Suga doesn’t say shit -- _ever_ , and b) only Jackson’s allowed to make Namjoon laugh that hard, smile that pretty.

 

And that’s when Jackson realizes that Namjoon isn’t _just_ hanging out with Suga -- he’s eating ice cream with him. They’re _sharing_ a whole ice cream cone.

 

The words start bouncing around in Jackson’s mind, almost like his brain just _loves_ to spite the hell out of him, and there’s a fire flaring up in his chest. It’s _frustration_ , because here we are again -- everything’s out of Jackson’s control. It’s like that same stupid feeling he’d felt at his first fencing tournament, when he’d landed second place.

 

This time, he comes _very_ close to actually throwing probation out the fucking window. He’s lifting his foot to dig into the pedal, when he stops short --

 

\-- because he can see Namjoon smiling.

 

That high quality, dimpled grin he gets whenever Jackson tells him about how fucked up his music class can get. The same smile Jackson has had the pleasure of being greeted with whenever he showed up to Starbucks at six fifteen, on the dot. It’s genuine joy.

 

And Jackson...Jackson can’t ruin that. Can’t take that from him.

 

Because Namjoon has to at least be a little upset with Jackson. And even if he wasn’t (something Jackson doubts _very_ much), he looks happy like this right now. Jackson can’t stop that, even if it _is_ because of resident stone-heart, Suga.

 

So he takes one last look, one very long glance at Namjoon, before he grips his handles so tight his knuckles are white, and pushes off of the curb.

 

 _One week_ , Jackson tells himself, one week, _and then you can see that same smile, hear that same laugh_.

 

\--

 

Namjoon ends up being dropped off by Suga at work after the ice cream. And the whole ride there, Namjoon’s actually capable of talking to Suga, asking him a little bit more about Taehyung. And even though the wind is roaring in his ears, Suga’s answers are clear enough for Namjoon to have a full blown conversation.

 

“Hoseok said that he bought literally everything there was to buy. Like, every cupcake flavor, every gluten free special, every seasonal pastry, the weekly specials, everything,” Namjoon says, voice half a yell. He’s still surprised that Suga’s able to understand him while he’s got his helmet on.

 

“Huh,” Suga says in acknowledgement. “Didn’t know he was capable of hiding so much shit. Literally and figuratively.”

 

Namjoon laughs a little, adjusting his grip on Suga’s sweater. “Literally, I’m right there with you; don’t sweat it,” he says.

 

And then they’re already driving down the street to the Starbucks, the sun just starting to pull down toward the horizon. Suga slows to a halt, and Namjoon waits until they’re pressed to the curb to slide off the seat.

 

“Thanks for the ride,” Namjoon smiles, slinging his laptop bag higher up his shoulder. “Really, though, you gotta stop doing so much stuff for me. I dunno if I’m ever gonna climb out of my debt to you,” he says, ducking his head.

 

Suga lets out a short laugh, eyes hidden behind his bangs. “Don’t tempt me,” he says. sitting up straight on his bike.

 

Namjoon bites at the inside of his cheek as he smiles, taking a step back, and then he remembers he’s still wearing Suga’s helmet (duh, that’s why everything’s so dark). “Oh, wait. Can’t let you leave without this,” he says, fumbling with the helmet, shaking his bangs when he’s pulled it off. He reaches out to hand it over when he takes a step too far, and hey, that’s the concrete and Suga’s bike wheel coming closer to his face --

 

\-- and then he’s fine.

 

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Namjoon stands upright stiffly. He may or may not have come _this_ close to crashing into Suga and possibly also fucking up the nice, shiny polish on his bike. Oh god, then he’d _really_ be in debt; Namjoon is such a fucking klutz --

 

Wait. That’s. Suga’s hand. On his hand. Holding him up, preventing his nose from coming in contact with the ground. But more importantly, that’s Suga’s hand. Holding his.

 

Namjoon looks up on reflex (probably), feeling kind of shocked into stillness.

 

Suga’s looking right back at Namjoon, and suddenly, it feels a lot like when Namjoon first made eye contact with him, behind the cover of the counter and a Starbucks apron. Except, there’s that sort of softness to his eyes this time; less cold and more...caring; cool. No, it’s not like when Namjoon was behind the counter, ringing up his order -- it’s like when he first smiled.

 

“Don’t be,” Suga releases his hold on Namjoon’s wrist, but as he slides away he feels their palms, the pads of their fingertips brushing. It’s almost like Suga’s reluctant to -- no. No, it can’t be. Namjoon’s just overthinking everything. And when Kim Namjoon overthinks things, Bad Things™ are bound happen.

 

“Uh...guess I’ll see you later, then,” Namjoon says, handing off his helmet, and with that, the contact between their hands is gone (kind of feels like there’s still some contact, though. Like, in the air. It’s weird).

 

“See you later,” Suga nods in agreement, and he’s pulling his helmet back over his head. Namjoon can still see the near-neon green of his bangs through the shaded visor.

 

“Hey, uh, I’ll call you. Thursday, maybe?” Namjoon adds quickly, before Suga starts his bike back up, and _goddammit_ , he couldn't have kept his mouth shut for two seconds longer (okay, but _listen_ \-- this is _Min Suga_ , and Namjoon doesn’t know how to fucking control himself anymore).

 

“Sure,” Suga says, both hands perched atop the handles of his bike. He gives one last look at Namjoon, expression guarded by his helmet, and adds, “Have a nice night, Namjoon.”

 

And Namjoon’s just sort of left there feeling woozy, waving Suga off, even though he probably can’t even see him (unless he just happens to be looking at Namjoon through the mirror, but why would Suga distract himself like that?). He waits until Suga’s rounded a corner to make his way inside.

 

When he pushes open the door to the Starbucks, the air conditioner practically blasts against his skin, and he realizes just how warm his face is. Is he blushing? _Was_ he blushing?

 

He pawns it off as just temperature change (because it does happen), and right when he’s feeling ready to start up the night, he suddenly feels very apron-less.

 

“Oh my god, fuck,” he curses, and hastily making his way to the back. He hangs up his laptop bag on the usual hook, grabbing one of the extra aprons (it honestly feels like it’s one size too small; but Namjoon doesn’t have a whole lot of options right now), and when he’s just about done tying the knot up, he suddenly gets the distinct sensation that he’s being...watched…

 

He looks up, praying it’s not some thief that’s gonna threaten to steal all the brownies (Jinyoung said it’s happened before), and he sighs in relief when he recognizes Jinyoung. But then, he recognizes that stance. Those folded arms, hands tucked neatly into the crook of his elbows, the slight head tilt and the weight shifted to one leg at just the barest angle, and that scrutinizing squint behind black, thick frame glasses --

 

Yeah, that’s Jinyoung’s _I’m Judging You_ pose (Namjoon once joked that Jinyoung should be called Park Judge-young. Namjoon once got socked in the arm, too).

 

“Hey, Jinyoung,” Namjoon doesn’t know what else to say, and it’s not like he can exactly high-tail it when Jinyoung’s looking him dead-on (god, what’s Namjoon done wrong _this_ time?).

 

“Hey, Namjoon,” Jinyoung says in a parroting manner. He’s got a grim smile on his face, like he’s either about to deliver bad news, or he’s waiting to hear that he just missed his flight to Hawaii.

 

Namjoon finishes his knot up, but he doesn’t let his arms drop (it feels like if he moves a muscle, Jinyoung’s gonna jump him). “You...okay?” Namjoon says slowly, and he knows that’s one of the dumbest questions he could have asked, because with that look, you just know that you’ve fucked up something within the last five minutes of your life.

 

“I’m just peachy,” Jinyoung says, sort of airily, and here it comes -- “But you. _You_ , are another story,” and he points toward the entrance. “What was that?”

 

“What was wh -- ” Namjoon follows where he’s pointing, because? What exactly is he referring to? “A...customer? Friend?” Namjoon supplies, looking from the door to Jinyoung. What’s he so worked up about? Or, wait -- there are three people coming in, maybe Jinyoung’s pissed off about Namjoon missing all of them. “Uh, sorry, hold on, I’ll handle them,” Namjoon’s about to duck his way out and over to the counter, when Jinyoung speaks up again.

 

“You -- ugh. Fine. Go do that,” Jinyoung looks like he’s exasperated, pushing his knuckles against the frame of his glasses. “But after work, we’re going to talk about this.”

 

“If you say so,” Namjoon shrugs, and bolts as soon as Jinyoung moves to turn around, maybe to grab at extra coffee grinds. He’s really not looking forward to an interrogation with Park Jinyoung

 

But of course, because Namjoon’s dreading Jinyoung’s questionnaire, the clock ticks by faster (Namjoon _swears_ his clock is wrong; there’s no way _six hours_ have just past). At least Jinyoung’s nice enough to not give him that... _look_ for the duration of his shift, minding his own business. He kind of minds it too well, though, because the most they end up talking to each other is whenever they pass syrup bottles.

 

“G’night,” Namjoon’s already saying goodbye to the guys in the back (it’s just Josh on Mondays, and some guys Namjoon doesn’t really know).

 

And he’s plucking his laptop bag off the rack, reaching a hand to search for his keys, when he realizes -- no car. Keys, but no car.

 

“Fuck,” Namjoon glances at the time -- ten o’ three. He’d totally forgotten Suga had dropped him off straight at work. There’s no way Hobi’s home to come get him, with his dance practices so fucking frequent --- and even if he was home, he’d be glued to the bed, dreaming of friend chicken and probably Taehyung (haha, just boyfriend things).

 

“What’s wrong?” Jinyoung’s voice nearly snaps Namjoon’s soul right out of his body, but by some miracle Namjoon doesn’t whip around and accidentally slap Jinyoung across the room.

 

“Uh, I don’t have...a ride home…” Namjoon says quietly. He kind of doesn’t want to answer, because undoubtedly, Jinyoung’s going to say --

 

“Great! I can take you home, then,” Jinyoung says cheerily, like he enjoys making Namjoon suffer.

 

With no other option, Namjoon obliges Jinyoung’s request (read: command), following him out to his car. He’s kind of hopelessly praying that Jinyoung’s gonna drop it, but literally when that exact thought crosses his mind, Jinyoung starts talking to him. About that exact thought.

 

“So I’m gonna ask this once. And only once,” Jinyoung’s starting the car up and plugging his phone charger in. He looks over to Namjoon. “What was that?”

 

It’s Namjoon’s turn to give Jinyoung a look. “Okay, I’m going to need something more specific than ‘that,’” he says, frowning.

 

Jinyoung nudges his glasses up further along his nose, placing hands on the wheel as he checks the mirrors to back out. “‘That,’ as in, what were you doing when you got here? You know, mint-haired motorcyclist guy, you staring into his eyes like he was god’s fucking gift to the earth.”

 

Namjoon would throw his arms in the air, but then he would seem flippant about the whole thing, which is definitely _not_ how he feels about it -- this shit with Jinyoung is happening _way_ too often for his liking, and also, the car is too small to move around in. “What do you _mean_ , ‘like he was god’s fucking gift to the earth’? I was _just_ making eye contact; it’s rude not to look someone straight in the face. And besides, he _did_ save me from falling flat on my own face.”

 

Jinyoung casts Namjoon a look that translates to, _I’m just a middle aged mom trying to control my rebellious teenaged son_ ’ and he starts pulling out of the parking lot. “Please, no. Don’t give me that. Do you know how _red_ your ears were? Your _face?_ ”

 

“I -- ” Namjoon is ready to launch into the defensive, when he does recall his face being kind of warm. “Well, wouldn’t you be embarrassed if you almost broke your face in front of one your best friends?” he blurts out, because _yes_ , Suga is his _friend_. “And before you tell me otherwise, can you just get to your point? I’m really not the one dodging questions right now.”

 

Jinyoung keeps his eyes on the road, inhaling deeply. “Look -- don’t lead Jackson on if you’re gonna flirt with other guys. Seriously. Jackson’s not a goddamn playboy; he’s not a one-and-done kind of guy.”

 

Namjoon freezes. Jackson -- Jackson _what?_

 

“Wait -- fuck, what? Jackson...likes me?” Namjoon says incredulously, like the true idiot he is.

 

Jinyoung sighs noisily. “And _this_ is why we can’t have nice things.”

 

“Okay, but wait, I’m pretty sure he, um, avoided me on Saturday. The last game I saw him at,” Namjoon says, and he feels a twinge of cold, remembering how Jackson just kinda...up and left without telling him anything. “Did I upset him, or something?” Namjoon probably sounds ridiculous, _stupid_ , but he can’t muster the control to fix that. He’s just -- _shocked_.

 

Jinyoung’s expression actually softens at that, his eyebrows relaxing as he makes a turn. “You -- no. You didn’t do anything. Jackson’s just…” Jinyoung bites his lip. “...busy, sometimes. Something important might’ve come up.”

 

“Yeah, well, that important reason was probably creepo Blondie,” Namjoon can’t help but snort. Seriously, though, that guy was fucking _gross_ , even if he did have pretty eyes and neatly styled hair.

 

“Don’t do that,” Jinyoung says, suddenly sharp, eyeing Namjoon warily. “Don’t do that. Jackson’s capable of making his own decisions, regardless of how they might look.”

 

Namjoon blinks -- it sounds like Jinyoung knows about Blondie? “Wait a second, you know Blondie?” he says lamely, but he’s _curious_ , goddammit.

 

Jinyoung tenses up at that, fingers tightening on the wheel. And then the car’s stopping. “You’re home, now,” he says, a little flatly, almost like he’s afraid to talk anymore.

 

“I -- ” Namjoon starts, but the words are stuck in his throat. He takes a deep breath. “Yeah. I’ll see you. Thanks for the, uh, ride, and...y’know. Telling me all that.”

 

Jinyoung’s looking down at his feet, but he meets Namjoon’s eyes. “Look. Just...think on it a little, okay? All of it. There’s more to Jackson than just a bunch of smiles and puppy eyes.” And then he scrunches his nose up. “And I’m...sorry, for getting worked up. It’s just...complicated.”

 

Namjoon opens the door, and he gives Jinyoung a sympathetic look before he parts. “I’ll take your word for it,” he says, “G’night, Jinyoung.” And when Jinyoung nods, he slowly closes the door behind him.

 

When he gets back in his apartment, this time he’s actually depressed that Hoseok isn’t home. He’s feeling kind of shitty, and Hoseok never fails to turn his frowns upside down, and he’s always willing to listen to Namjoon’s emotional word vomit.

 

Once he’s in his pajamas, he flops onto his bed, plugging his phone in and rolling onto his back.

 

So apparently, Jackson likes Namjoon.

 

That’s a pretty _big fucking deal_ (not just because no one’s ever really, _really_ liked Namjoon for real; those three dates do _not_ count). Namjoon hadn’t really noticed anything before, had always pegged Jackson’s interest in him as a friendly one, but now that Jinyoung’s told him he can kind of see it. And, in fact...maybe Jackson would be a fit with Namjoon. Namjoon _had_ frequently told himself how much they got along together, and he’s always felt so... _right_ , hanging out with him.

 

Namjoon reaches out for his phone, unlocking it and opening up his contacts list. He should text Jackson, say hello, or ask what’s up. It hasn’t even been a whole week, but to Namjoon, it’s been ages since he’s last heard that obnoxiously loud motorbike pull by, or seen that platinum blonde mess of hair.

 

As he pulls up Jackson’s number, he finds himself smiling a little, thinking about what Jackson would be like as his boyfriend (cliche and childish, but Namjoon couldn’t give a fuck). Yeah, yeah; Jackson’d be the kind of sappy, irritatingly lovable boyfriend, the one that always runs their mouth, but can also make up cheesy (read: romantic) pick up lines in their sleep.

 

It seems a little ironic, though, because so many people seem to think that Namjoon is... _Suga’s_ boyfriend. Which is an entirely different thing in itself (even _Jinyoung_ looked to have thought something was going on between them, and _he’s_ the one that told him about _Jackson_ ). Yeah, Suga is the most amazing fucking person on the planet, with eyes that could make the stars swoon and the driest sense of humor Namjoon’s ever borne witness to, but there’s no _way_ Suga thinks of Namjoon even remotely like... _that_. Suga likes Namjoon’s music; that’s all, and he’s probably interested in nothing beyond the realm of friendship.

 

And then Namjoon remembers: they didn’t finish the song they were working on (they’d kinda been laughing their fucking guts out).

 

“Ugh, _no_ ,” Namjoon groans, tossing his phone aside, dragging himself out of bed. As he digs around his laptop bag for his notebook, he rubs at his eyes irritatedly; he just wants to fucking sleep.

 

And, after two hours straight of writing, editing, and groaning, he does sleep. He’s so exhausted, he doesn’t even notice Hoseok slipping through the door, draping a blanket over his shoulders where he’s face planted into his desk.

 

\--

 

Classes are usually Namjoon’s go-to buffer to take his mind off of...things, except, that's not the case on Tuesday morning.

 

For some reason, it's like the whole atmosphere of the campus is excited, buzzed with anticipation. Namjoon can tell, because _no one_ should be this alive at eight in the morning, waiting for their literature professor to show up. The entire class is alive with the low hum of whispers, and people are actually talking to each other.

 

And Namjoon’s actually getting a little concerned, worrying that someone's died, when he passes by the front row of seats and hears the distinct words, _new guy_.

 

Which, actually, is more surprising to hear than learning someone's death date (and anyways, if it was anyone's funeral, it’d probably be Namjoon’s) because...what's so fucking special about a new guy? Namjoon doesn’t comment on it aloud, because he isn’t _that_ rude, but...doesn’t  their school receive foreign exchange students and transfers all the time? Maybe they're just really hot, and everyone's busy melting all over them.

 

Namjoon tries to ignore the constant discussion about new guy (for some reason, Namjoon doesn't even know his name? No one's mentioned it at all), but it's really difficult, with everyone around him leaning into each other's ears and gossiping like high schoolers. It's especially difficult when there are two people behind him not-so-subtly talking _out loud_ about it, practically right up next to Namjoon’s ear.

 

He manages to hold off questions for the whole class (because he's _not_ gonna fuck up in _literature_ ), but he does hear some gems, including, “ _I hear that he has an eight-pack. He must be shredded as hell_ ,” and “ _Someone said he punched them in the face once. Said it was fucking awesome_.” So, from what Namjoon can gather, this guy’s the fittest and best-looking fucker to have ever walked their campus.

 

It carries on like that for the rest of the day, where Namjoon endures the barrage of comments (that are sort of backhanded compliments?) made toward this new guy (who’s name Namjoon still doesn’t know), and he’s almost done with the day when there’s a particularly loud, “He’s so fucking _hot_ ,” and really, Namjoon can’t take it anymore (he wonders how well the actual person of interest is taking this; it must be a _nightmare_ ).

 

“Who is it that’s everyone so obsessed with today? Seriously. Who. And why,” Namjoon prods Soonyoung, one of Hoseok’s dance crew members. He seems to be particularly knowledgeable on the subject of new guy.

 

Soonyoung looks up from his phone, and he gives Namjoon the most disbelieving look, like Namjoon’s been living underneath a rock at the bottom of the fucking ocean.

 

“You mean you _don’t know_?” Soonyoung says incredulously, sitting upright.

 

Namjoon glances around the classroom, at everyone huddled together (and more than likely talking about this new guy). “Uh...no,” Namjoon says slowly. He doesn’t ask if he should know, because it’s been made pretty obvious he should.

 

“Well let me tell y --” Soonyoung is about to respond when one of his friend’s (Minghao, Namjoon’s pretty sure) steals his phone, and he smacks him the arm before turning his attention back to Namjoon. “Well let me tell _you_ \-- ” he says again, turning in his chair, and Namjoon kind of wants to run away when he says it like _that_.

 

“Im Jaebum is _the_ fucking man -- multimillionaire, heir to Im Film Productions, has a jawline that could literally cut butter in half, and he’s fucking _ripped_ ,” Soonyoung clips, sounding about as smitten as everyone else on campus does. “Also, he’s really super cool and athletic. And he’s going to our college. So.”

 

Namjoon just kind of blinks, a little dumbfounded, but it’s mostly because he’s weirded out that a millionaire would choose to go to a _Fine Arts_ college. Or -- okay, maybe not that weird; Soonyoung did just say the guy was heir to Im Film Productions, so maybe he’s a film kind of guy.

 

But overall, Namjoon’s just fucking amazed at how fucking petty his school is.

 

“You do realize you’re all probably making his life a living hell? Right?” Namjoon rubs at his left temple. _God_ ; the guy probably can’t walk past two people without hearing something like “ _It’s him!_ ” or “ _That’s the guy! The guy that I want to step on me!_ ”, and honestly, Namjoon just feels really bad for the guy -- Jaebum -- at this point.

 

Soonyoung shrugs. “Well, there is -- wait. You said you didn’t know who he was, right?”

 

“Well, now I do,” Namjoon sighs.

 

And then Soonyoung squints at Namjoon. “Then I think you should figure out for yourself what’s so special about him. If you’re not gonna take my word for it, you need to see him for yourself.”

 

 _Uh, no_ , Namjoon thinks. The guy’s probably being swarmed wherever he goes, and Namjoon isn’t all that interested in making his probably already terrible college life here any worse. “Yeah. Sure,” Namjoon just grunts, and Soonyoung smirks.

 

“When you do find out -- well, _if_ you find out -- you’ll see why everyone’s so worked up over him. And I’m not talking about his face, or his abs, even though both are fucking great,” Soonyoung sighs, and then turns back face front to resume his assault on Minghao’s arm.

 

Namjoon has no clue what that means -- maybe it’s just everyone’s thirst that’s got the campus going wild. He just lets the whole topic drift away as school gets out, and _finally_ he’s free from all the non-stop blabbering (really, though, that poor guy -- Jaebum must be regretting ever even thinking about going to their university).

 

\--

 

The Starbucks is real nice and quiet when Namjoon walks in through the front door (he’s got both his apron _and_ his car this time, by the way), just a light hum of conversation wafting around the room. Thankfully, Namjoon doesn’t hear the name Jaebum or new guy at all, and he spends the first hour of his shift thanking god that he doesn’t have to listen to any more of... _that_. At least, not until tomorrow.

 

Except, the silence only lasts for so long (kind of like Namjoon’s luck) and without warning, there’s a horde of freshmen flooding the entire goddamn shop. Namjoon recognizes a couple of them from his school, and fuck, they’d better not be here to --

 

“I heard he’s done beer commercials. In Korea,” comes the first comment of many, and Namjoon’s admittedly amazed that the subject of Jaebum has been carried so far.

 

Namjoon tries to concentrate on the granite of the counter as best he can, when the group of college kids come up to the counter to order. He’s able to hear their orders and filter out the rest of the recycled nonsense they’re spewing, and even better, he gets through actually making their orders without spilling anything at the mention of Jaebum. But his patience is starting to wear thin as he’s down to the last macchiato, and if he hears _one more thing about this guy_ \--

 

“Hey, you haven’t seen him around here, have you?” One of the kids is asking, eyes wide and expectant as they take their drink from Namjoon’s hand.

 

“Sorry?” says, despite knowing exactly who they’re talking about.

 

The kid sticks their straw in their drink, taking a sip before looking around the store (presumably for Jaebum). “Im Jaebum. Y’know, looks real fuckin’ hot, ‘s got the en pointe fashion sense. You can’t miss him. Heard he was passing through here.”

 

Namjoon has to restrain himself from slamming his forehead onto the fucking counter, because _this_ is how far everyone’s willing to take their fixation? To stalking and spying?

 

“No, sorry; don’t think I have,” Namjoon forces a grin and shakes his head. “Why? You want his autograph, or something?”

 

The guy looks a little disappointed at that, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, actually. The guy’s radical,” the guy says. “I saw the last movie he was in; he’s _such_ a good actor.”

 

And, huh, Namjoon doesn’t think he heard anyone mention that Jaebum was an actor. Guess it’s just more fuel to feed the thirst bonfire. At least, now it kind of makes sense, though, why everyone’s craving him like he’ll fix their college debt (which, really, from the sounds of things, he probably could), but Namjoon still doesn’t think it excuses how teen-ish everyone’s been acting lately.

 

“Well, maybe it’ll be easier to find him if you let him breathe a little,” Namjoon really can’t help but let it slip. It’s just -- enough is enough, okay?

 

The guy surprisingly doesn’t flip his absolute shit when he hears Namjoon, and in fact, actually looks kind of like he’s seriously considering Namjoon’s advice (really? Had it _never_ crossed anyone’s mind that maybe it’s hard to see this Jaebum guy because he doesn’t want to be found?).

 

And then they’re gone, and Namjoon soaks up the silence as best he can, because at this rate, he’s expecting another pack of students to come storming in, asking about Jaebum’s whereabouts.

 

He’s ignoring his phone, because if he looks he’s going to notice how _little_ time has passed, and Namjoon just wants to go home and sleep. It’d be fan-fucking-tastic if he could just close his eyes for five seconds and go without hearing all of this gossip.

 

His fingers are itching to reach into his pocket, though, maybe to send Hoseok a quick Snapchat entailing his suffering, when there’s another customer coming in through the front. The guy doesn’t immediately walk up to the counter, walking at a leisure pace and looking around the store, almost like he’s searching for something. He actually looks kind of lost, blinking up at the lights. Almost like...a puppy?

 

 _Thank god the guy’s not with any of those weirdo fans_ , Namjoon thinks, because for once, it’s a customer that isn’t joined at the hip, gossiping, with anyone else. It’s just one, lone guy.

 

The man stands by the front counter, craning his neck, obviously still on the lookout for whatever it is he’s scouting for (maybe he thinks he got stood up by a date?).

 

“Hi; what can I get for you today?” Namjoon says, trying to look as welcoming as possible. If the guy really is getting stood up, there’s probably going to be the panic phase right after the realization of, “ _oh, fuck, it’s been ten minutes and you’re still not here_ ”; Namjoon’s seen the process with too many customers.

 

The guy shakes his auburn hair out of his eyes, like he’s been shocked out of a trance, and the look of bewilderment is replaced with a lax smile.

 

“Just a caramel honey latte. Grande size,” he replies, after taking a quick peek at the menu behind Namjoon.

 

“Sure, just a second,” Namjoon nods, dialing in his order and telling him his amount due. The guy’s tugging his wallet out of his pocket (is that…? No; Namjoon’s not even gonna try and guess what that material is. It just looks real fucking expensive), and as he’s struggling to pull out his credit card, Namjoon realizes that _everything_ on him looks expensive. Even his gray cardigan, with how it’s cut and the material it’s made of. Even his _hair_ looks perfect, and it doesn’t even look styled.

 

“Thanks,” Namjoon says, when the guy hands him his card, sliding it and then returning it to him. And right when Namjoon’s reaching for his cup and sharpie, the guy speaks up.

 

“I’m sorry if this is a strange question, but would you happen to know if...Park Ju -- Jinyoung, works here, by any chance?” the guy asks, and _oh,_ this involves _Jinyoung_.

 

Namjoon nods, and tries to reassure him everything’s fine. “Yeah, he’s in the back. I wouldn’t worry about getting stood up by him; he’s always on time.”

 

A look of relief crosses the guy’s eyes. “Oh thank god, I was starting to get worried for a second.”

 

Namjoon wants to laugh, because Jinyoung’s _dating someone_? Who looks rich as hell, too? “Hold on, I’ll be right back,” Namjoon turns on heel, cause this really shouldn’t take too long, when he sees Jinyoung stepping out into view. “Hey, Jinyoung, your date’s here.”

 

Jinyoung gives Namjoon possibly one of the most confused looks he’s ever seen (even more so than the guy at the counter’s), eyebrows furrowed and mouthing a quiet, _What?_. And then he looks past Namjoon’s shoulder and his expression smooths out (oddly, it’s not that real loving look that Namjoon thinks that most couples share).

 

“Oh, JB. I had a feeling you got lost on your way here,” Jinyoung says, calm and casual. And then he looks over to Namjoon. “And also, we’re not dating.”

 

On the inside, Namjoon wants to say “ _aw, darn, that would have been the phenomenon of the century_ ,” but at the same time, also wonders what kind of name is _JB_?

 

“Is that what you want me to put you down as?” Namjoon glances to Jaebum, his sharpie ready to write, awaiting JB’s response.

 

JB peers over at the cup in Namjoon’s hands a little nervously, and after one sweep of the area, he shakes his head. “No, it’s fine, you can write Jaebum down.”

 

And Namjoon is just about to do that, when -- _back the fuck up_.

 

 _No, don’t_ , Namjoon tells himself. _Don’t make any faces, don’t make any outbursts, and definitely do not ask any questions; this guy has probably been through enough hell for one day_. He tries to think of something to say that won’t set off any sirens to any nearby Jaebum fans.

 

He ends up settling for a blunt, “I’m so sorry.”

 

Jaebum quirks an eyebrow, and hey, there are the two moles Namjoon remembers a couple of girls talking about. Then he breaks into a grin and starts laughing, real bright and amused.

 

Honestly, Jaebum doesn’t look anything like how Namjoon expected him to look like. He seems about average height, has nice, warm, dark brown eyes, auburn hair that doesn’t seem to have been styled very much, and a very modest aura that gives off the impression that he’s just like any other human being.

 

He’s not really even that ripped (not like people he’s seen before, like Jackson), and he doesn’t have cheek bones reminiscent of Angelina Jolie. And Namjoon’s not trying to sound rude, but to him, Jaebum seems...normal (yes, he’s good looking, and yes, that is one fine jawline, but he’s not someone Namjoon would drool over in his dreams).

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jaebum shakes his head, waving a hand of dismissal, and _how_ exactly can this guy just be okay with everyone fawning or chatting about him behind his back? “I’m used to it; I can handle it. Hopefully.”

 

And that just makes Namjoon feel even worse for this poor guy, because _fuck_ , he must be surrounded on all sides by _those_ people everyday.

 

“Is that why you took so long? Got caught by the crowd again?” Jinyoung pipes up from behind Namjoon, right as he’s starting to scribble Jaebum’s name down.

 

Jaebum frowns, signing his name at the keypad. “Surprisingly, no. It was thanks to your awful directions that it took me more than an hour to find you.”

 

Namjoon hears Jinyoung sigh. “I gave you very specific instructions on how to get here from campus. I even listed some of the landmarks around this place,” he says.

 

Jaebum sighs, looking off to the side. “I’m sorry. I just -- ugh.”

 

Namjoon’s turning to the back to start up Jaebum’s drink, and he sees Jinyoung getting that middle-aged-mom look again, except this time he looks significantly more sympathetic than irritated. “How many Starbucks’ did you go to before this one?” he asks, hands on his hips.

 

Jaebum hums a long, _Ummmm_ , before finally giving a quiet, meek answer of, “This may or may not be the sixth drink I’ve have today.”

 

Jinyoung shakes his head, sighing. “JB, you know that much caffeine and sugar is bad for you. I thought you were thinking of dieting?”

 

“Well,” Jaebum smacks his lips, as if he’s looking for the right thing to say. “Wouldn’t it have been rude if I had just shown up, asked for you, and then have walked out? And plus, I’m only doing what you said you wanted me to do, so think of it this way: I’m helping out the local stores, too.”

 

Namjoon can see Jinyoung shaking his head again in the corner of his eye. “Rich people dilemmas.”

 

Jaebum sounds totally unfazed by Jinyoung’s comment. “Hilarious; now let me live. I’ve been driving a lot today; kinda want to sit and drink in peace,” he says, breathy.

 

Namjoon hands Jaebum his drink then, and Jaebum actually sticks close to the counter to talk with him and Jinyoung.

 

“So, you’ve got everything moved in okay? You starting to set stuff up?” Jinyoung’s asking, cleaning the syrup dispensers.

 

“Starting, yeah,” Jaebum sighs breezily. “Still haven’t had any free time all week. I haven’t had the chance to meet any of my neighbors, but I did hear a lot of music from one of the houses.”

 

“There _are_ those kinds of people,” Jinyoung shrugs, nonchalant, before he walks up to the counter to take someone’s order, and wait a second --

 

Jaebum, a rich man who’s probably moved into a rich neighborhood, saying he heard loud music next door? And Suga, a rich man who definitely lives in a rich neighborhood, who produces music as a job? _Coincidence_?

 

And that’s actually exactly what Namjoon is forced to chalk it up as, because it’s not like he’s going to ask Jaebum where he lives. Undoubtedly, Jaebum’s going to mistake Namjoon’s genuine curiosity for plans to get in his pants.

 

“No kidding. I heard the same two guys rapping for three hours straight,” Jaebum sighs tiredly. And, oh -- Namjoon would know if it was Suga if he asked when Jaebum heard the music, but again, he’s too not interested in freaking Jaebum out.

 

Jinyoung hands a lemon bar to the customer, telling them to have a nice night, before he looks at Jaebum again. “You know, you could have texted me that you needed help; I would’ve taken the day off,” he says. “And also, how come you haven’t responded to my texts for the past three hours?”

 

Jaebum looks at the floor, like he’s embarrassed about something. “I’m sorry, my phone broke just this lunch.”

 

“Broke? Your phone?” Jinyoung folds his arms, eyebrows raised. “JB, you could have gotten yourself lost. You shouldn’t be out without a phone. Why didn’t you call from home?”

 

“I don’t know? I’m just -- ” Jaebum rubs at his eye with his knuckles. “ -- really out of it. I didn’t get any sleep last night. Work with dad.”

 

And Namjoon really does feel bad for the guy. Now that he’s got a longer look at him, he can see how his eyelids droop low every now and then, threatening to close. How the hell did this guy manage to drive to _six different Starbucks_ without crashing his fucking car?

 

“Dude, you need to rest. Like, ASAP,” Namjoon says. If it were Namjoon in his shoes, he’d probably be passed out on his couch right now, in the middle of a seven hour nap. “Not sleeping can’t be healthy. At all.” And Namjoon may be acting a little hypocritical, because he’s certainly gone nights without sleep, but someone like Jaebum sounds like they _need_ sleep to function properly.

 

Jaebum gives a small shake of his head. “No, no, I’m okay. I’ll just sleep in for the whole day on Saturday,” he says softly, and (ironically) he yawns right after.

 

“Absolutely not,” Jinyoung says suddenly, stern. “The average sleep time people need is seven-to-eight hours a night. You are _not_ waiting until Saturday to get in all of your sleep,” he says, and Namjoon’s almost one hundred percent sure he’s quoting that from some psychology textbook. “And how did you even break your phone?”

 

At this, Jaebum shrinks a little, scratching at his neck. He takes a sip from his drink, then says, “I dropped it on the ground,” and before Jinyoung can say anything, Jaebum continues, “I was running from one of the guys that wanted me to punch him in the face! I just kinda lost my grip…” he mumbles the last part quietly.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Namjoon feels the need to apologize again (the Freudian slip is _so fucking strong_ right now). “I don’t know how you don’t have any gray hairs. I’d be in my grave by now if I had to deal with what you have to.”

 

“Sometimes, I wonder myself,” Jaebum replies after a sip.

 

“You’re going to get another phone, right?” Jinyoung is pinching the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up.

 

“Yeah, I’m gonna ask my...uh, dad for a new one,” Jaebum nods, hiding his face as he scratches at his cheek, almost shyly.

 

“Well, I expect you to not leave my texts hanging when you get your nice, new phone,” Jinyoung sniffs. “Otherwise I’ll start confusing you for someone else I know.” And -- hey, is Jinyoung look at _Namjoon?_

 

“Hey, rude,” Namjoon accuses Jinyoung crossly. “I fell asleep. Didn’t you say that people need an average of seven, eight hours of sleep?”

 

“You don’t get to use that excuse. How many times have you dropped out on me after five texts this month?” Jinyoung shoots back with ease, actually leaning back against the counter.

 

“Like, only five times -- ” Namjoon stops short. Because Jinyoung isn’t the only person Namjoon’s been textually unfaithful to; there’s also...Jackson. Yeah. Didn’t Namjoon fall asleep last night before he was able to text him?

 

“If only I could treat my e-mails like that,” Jaebum says wistfully.

 

 _Ugh_ , Namjoon feels like _shit_ now. There might be something up with Jackson right now, and Namjoon _fell the fuck asleep_ before he could even check up on him. What kind of friend is Namjoon (or pending-boyfriend, maybe?)?

 

“You, um, okay, Namjoon?” Jaebum’s leaning forward a little, on his toes, and he looks a little concerned.

 

Namjoon blinks. “How do you know my name?”

 

“Your name tag, you space cadet,” Jinyoung’s rolling his eyes, but then his tone softens up, sounding as worried as Jaebum when he says, “But yeah, are you feeling okay? You look like you’re going to throw up.”

 

“No, um, I need a five minute break. Be right back.” Namjoon swallows, and he runs for the back before either Jinyoung or Jaebum can stop him. He’s gotta get his shit together _now_.

 

He fishes his phone out of his bag, fingers shaking a little. He enters his passcode and opens up Jackson’s contact, tapping the message button.

 

For a second, he kinda just stares at the screen, blanking out. He’s...not supposed to lead Jackson on. Namjoon feels his face heating up when he remembers Jinyoung’s conversation with him the other night (not that he’d forgotten about it; no _way_ he could completely put _that_ out of his head), about how Jackson apparently...likes him.

 

So...what the fuck is Namjoon supposed to text him?

 

“Fuck,” Namjoon says under his breath. This was a terrible idea. Maybe he should ask Jiny -- no. Namjoon can handle this by himself. It’s just a text, isn’t it…?

 

At first, Namjoon contemplates just texting a, _hey, this is namjoon, jinyoung gave me your number just wanted to say hi_ , but that’s kind of...impersonal, and Namjoon wants to be as friendly as possible without fucking things up any further.

 

Maybe a, _hey it’s namjoon, just got your number from jinyoung. i haven’t seen you for a while and i’m free this week, did you wanna do something_ , would suffice -- wait, _no_ . That’s literally like Namjoon going, _so I know you like me, did you want me to torture you with the prospect of a date_ ,  and that’s probably one of the cruelest ways he could lead Jackson on. And Jinyoung said very clearly that Namjoon should not lead Jackson on. At all.

 

After many ideas have floated through his head, Namjoon finally decides to go for the semi-casual, reasonable and non-suspicious way of doing things. He reviews his text over and over, making sure that it seems completely normal, nothing out of the ordinary, and when he finally concludes it’s as good as it’ll get, he hits send.

 

_To ; Jackson ; 5:46 p.m._

_hey this is namjoon, jinyoung gave me your number. i kinda forgot when the game is tomorrow is it 3 again?_

 

_To ; Jackson ; 5:47 p.m._

_also hi haven’t seen you in ages_

 

Namjoon waits a good ten minutes, standing around in the back, awaiting any response from Jackson. He paces for a couple of minutes, leans against the wall for another three, tapping his foot against the tile the whole while, and he’s kind of disappointed when there’s...nothing.

 

Or Namjoon’s just being too...expectant. It’s really only been ten minutes since he’s sent that text, right? Maybe Jackson just doesn’t have his phone on him, or something.

 

That’s the best reason Namjoon can come up with. Because, really, it’s not like he should expect everyone to answer texts at the speed of light.

 

Namjoon leaves his phone in his bag, unable to stand the anticipation any longer, and picks the pace back up at the counter. Jaebum actually ends up staying for a while, keeping Jinyoung and Namjoon some well-needed company. Namjoon goes back to feeling somewhat comfortable, but he can’t help but feel queasy over his text to Jackson.

 

And the worst thing about it all, is that Namjoon can’t pin down any one reason _why_ he feels so uneasy. All he’s certain about is that he feels antsy -- not really _worried_ but he just... feels like he’s waiting for something monumental to happen.

 

 _Ugh_ \-- Namjoon’s just overthinking things -- probably not the best thing to be doing right now.

 

\--

 

By the next day, Wednesday, there’s still no response.

 

And Namjoon’s going to admit it: he’s kind of freaked out that he either a) texted the wrong number, or b) has done something wrong, something that’s either irritated or upset Jackson to make him kind of ignore him.

 

At least Jinyoung’s nice enough to tell Namjoon that Jackson’s Wednesday games are always at home, always at three. And so, despite no reply from Jackson, Namjoon finds himself walking up to a mostly empty gym at three in the afternoon.

 

Namjoon frowns, confused; Jinyoung wouldn’t lie, and he’d never be wrong about something simple like this (or really, Jinyoung’s usually just never wrong about anything). Namjoon gives a quick sweep of the campus, looking left to right. There’s no one to ask where everyone is, but there’s a white piece of paper taped to the gym entrance. When he’s close enough to read the sign, a jolt of panic stabs straight through his skin.

 

 _Team emergency; game canceled for today! See you next week!!_ the sign reads in bubble letters, and the wheels in Namjoon’s head are already turning -- Jackson could be hurt? Maybe that’s why there’s been nothing from him for the past week. It...it does seem to make a whole lot of sense.

 

He’s about to reach for his phone, text Jinyoung and ask him if Jackson’s injured or something, when he catches the line in small print at the bottom of the poster, _Get well soon Coach Taec!!_ and _holy shit_ , that calms Namjoon’s nerves fast.  Except, now, that means that Jackson is probably fine, and capable of texting.

 

Unless Jackson’s crippled, or in a coma, Namjoon thinks that, judging from Jackson’s personality, he would have texted a hello back at this point -- although, Namjoon knows he shouldn’t just expect everyone to reply to everything he texts; he’s not a dick, he’s just...worried. And Namjoon hasn’t even seen Jackson on campus, nor has he heard the sound of his bike just passing by (it’s not that Namjoon has memorized the sound of that bike or anything, not at all), and now he’s starting to worry _more_. He stands outside the gym, fretting to himself about all the things that Jackson not texting him could mean.

 

In the end, Namjoon just gives up trying to sort everything out, and drives off. He’ll have the chance to ask Jackson on Friday; Jackson’s always shown up on Fridays.

 

He finds himself driving up to the bakery Hoseok works at -- the city-wide known, family run bakery, with custom-design furniture but a moderate amount of space for lounging around. Namjoon almost trips and falls when he steps through the double doors, stumbling over to Hoseok, who’s standing at the counter.

 

“Namjoon! So nice to see you,” Hoseok greets excitedly, thankfully dismissing Namjoon’s incapability to walk straight. “Thought you said there was a game today? With Jackson?”

 

“Yeah, well,” Namjoon scratches at his ear. “Guess it was canceled. Something about the coach being...sick?”

 

“Aw, that blows,” Hoseok says sympathetically. “Is that all that happened, though? You look sorta worried. What’s up?”

 

 _There’s a guy that likes me, and I kind of want to confirm it, but he hasn’t been talking to me lately, and I texted him and he hasn’t texted me back and now I’m worried he’s either been murdered or I did something wrong, and also I ran out of hair gel this morning_ , Namjoon kind of wants to say. Okay, maybe omit the hair gel part, but yeah.

 

“Uh...stuff?” Namjoon says eloquently. Welp. That went great.

 

“Stuff like…?” Hobi says coaxingly, tilting his head forward. “Please tell me this isn’t a confession about drug dealing, because I don’t have the money to bail you out.”

 

“What? No!” Namjoon splutters (why is it whenever Namjoon says something happened Hobi _instantly_ jumps to the conclusion that it’s got something to do with illegal substances?). “I’m just -- just really tired and really confused. About stuff.”

 

Hoseok leans onto the counter, weight on his forearms. “If you told me what this ‘stuff,’ is, then maybe it’d make a little more sense. Well, to me, anyways.”

 

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “If you give me something to eat, I’ll spill.”

 

Of course, this amplifies Hoseok’s interest, and he strides over to the display cases with a bounce in his step. “Sure, sure, what do you want? Sold a lot of stuff today, so there’s not a ton left. I got  lemon, vanilla, peanut butter -- ” he glances up to see Namjoon’s cringe and laughs, “ -- and also strawberry, mint, and dragon fruit. So what’ll it be?”

 

And Namjoon just kind of stares. Right at the dragon fruit cupcake. He starts thinking of Jackson, the first time he heard his laugh, and his platinum blonde bangs, and the way the nickname princess just rolled off of his tongue, and the stupid whipped cream mustache he had when he tasted the first mocha Namjoon ever made him.

 

“Hey, you okay?” Hoseok says, and Namjoon blinks.

 

“Yeah, uh,” Namjoon grinds his teeth together. Get it together; _god_. “J-just the dragon fruit and mint,” he stutters, biting at his lip.

 

Hoseok’s expression twists up with confusion, like Namjoon’s just told him that hip-hop is dead. Tentatively, he reaches for the cupcakes. “Really? You never pass up on strawberry,” he says slowly, placing the cupcakes in a to-go box.

 

Namjoon shrugs. “Sure; I’ll take one, too, then. Sorry, I...don’t think I’m thinking straight.”

 

“That’s because _you’re_ not straight,” Hoseok says informatively, his smile wide and sincere. “But I’m not either. So,” he pauses, boxing the cupcakes, before he returns to the counter, where he slides it over to him. “Ready to talk now?”

 

Namjoon sighs. “Yeah, hold on,” he says, making room for everything in his laptop bag, before placing the box next to his cell phone. He shifts his weight heel to heel; how should he say this? In a way that makes sense, and also doesn’t make Namjoon sound like a total fucking idiot.

 

“I kinda want your advice, or insight, or whatever, on something,” Namjoon says, and when Hoseok hums in acknowledgement, continues. “So, like, there’s this -- this one guy -- um, fuck. What do you -- what do I -- ” and Namjoon wants to _scream_ this is going so badly. “What do you do when there’s someone that likes you, but they haven’t actually told you themselves?” he ends up saying, thoroughly disappointed with his lack of articulation.

 

Hoseok raises his eyebrows, and clearly he was not expecting that to be Namjoon’s dilemma. “I...guess I would date him?” he shrugs his shoulders, and wow, Namjoon doesn’t know what he expected him to say. Hoseok quickly takes note of Namjoon’s lack of amusement and laughs. “I’m joking -- okay, not really, that’s actually what I would do, but if that’s not what you want to hear…”

 

“It’s -- ugh,” Namjoon really isn’t super interested in Hoseok’s rainbows and sunshine way of putting things, but hey, maybe that’s what he needs right now. “No, it’s fine. Go ahead,” he mumbles.

 

Hoseok stands up a little straighter, clearly pleased with his admittance. “Well, if I were you, I’d actually wait for them to say something about it. It’s always bad to force answers out of someone when they’re not prepared to answer,” he clips, leaning against the counter.

 

Okay, but there’s a problem right there -- Namjoon doesn’t know if waiting will work. Jackson’s pretty much disappeared from Namjoon’s life (although, he supposes he could have just asked Jinyoung where he is), and Namjoon may or may not be a little freaked out that maybe he’s just avoiding Namjoon.

 

“Okay, but here’s another question -- ” Namjoon licks his lips. “What if you haven’t seen them? In like, a couple of days, but it’s not because of coincidence? Like -- not _ignoring_ you, ignoring you -- but just -- not seeing you?” Does not answering a text count as ignoring? Namjoon doesn’t want to point any fingers; he’s just making shots in the dark right now (and probably hitting nothing, like always).

 

Hoseok seems taken aback a bit. “Oh,” he purses his lips. “Do you mind if I ask who’s ignoring you?”

 

No, Namjoon doesn’t mind. He trusts Hobi, would trust him with his life, if he’s being totally honest. But the thought of how Namjoon could possibly be overthinking everything cross his mind, and what if he’s about to give Hoseok the wrong impression of Jackson (to which, Hobi would definitely shout out loud “I’ll fight him for you!”)? And Namjoon isn’t even crystal clear on why Jackson kinda has been...gone, lately. “I -- not now. Later, maybe. I need to think about it more. The stuff, I mean,” Namjoon exhales.

 

Hoseok smiles warm, and Namjoon’s glad he’s friends with such an understanding guy (maybe he’ll tell Hoseok that later). “Okay,” he nods, and then he’s pointing at Namjoon’s laptop bag; an effort to change the topic, one Namjoon’s grateful for. “You’re not gonna eat right now?”

 

Namjoon glances down at his bag, at the cupcakes through the plastic top. “Not hungry right now,” he says.

 

Hoseok frowns, “Sure you’re not,” he says, leaning onto the counter. Namjoon hears something  move in the back (must be one of his co workers), and as Hoseok yawns sleepily, he wonders if Hoseok’s actually done anything today yet.

 

“Have been out today? You almost look as tired as I feel,” Namjoon asks, as Hoseok raises his arms over his head to stretch.

 

Hoseok stops mid stretch, but it’s to laugh, airy and light, and...that can’t be good. “Um, haha, yeah. I was with Taetae earlier today,” he says, letting his arms fall to his sides.

 

Namjoon blinks. “What.”

 

And all Hoseok does is laugh more. “I dunno if you want the details, but I invited him over to our apartment, and -- ”

 

“Nope,” Namjoon stops him right fucking there. “That’s great. Nice. _Amazing_.”

 

Hoseok grins. “ -- after we did stuff, we went out for lunch, and he dropped me off for work.”

 

Namjoon breathes a sigh of relief (even though he’s pretty sure that ‘stuff,’ means Hobi and Taehyung...did...stuff…), and Hoseok’s shaking his head.

 

“You make it sound like we had sex in public. We’re not _that_ bad; not like we screwed in the studio,” Hoseok’s saying, and wh -- _what the fuck?_ How and why would Hoseok know anything about _that_?

 

“How the fuck do you know about that?” Namjoon says flatly. In retrospect, it would actually make a little sense if Hoseok knew about Jimin and Jungkook’s sexual episode in Suga’s studio, because maybe Taehyung complained to him about it?

 

Instead of laughing, Hoseok frowns, confused. “Know about what?”

 

And they stand there, staring at each other, trying to figure out what the other’s thinking, until (at probably the same exact second) they break down laughing, because really, the _face_ that Hobi was making was _ridiculous_.

 

Neither of them figure out until later Hoseok was referring to his dance studio, while Namjoon was thinking of Suga’s recording studio.

 

\--

 

Thursday rolls by nice and easy; even easier when Namjoon calls Suga up and gets to spend even _more_ time with him, writing, rapping, and making dumbass jokes, laughing until Namjoon’s throat is sore. Namjoon’s text to Jackson still is unanswered, but with Suga here, in front of him, and making those little grins every now and then, it’s easier to distance himself from the whole thought itself.

 

Together, they manage to lay out a near-finished rough draft of the song (it’s nameless; according to Suga, some songs come out better if you don’t label them first). By then, it’s already late, and Namjoon’s found himself sitting in Suga’s kitchen, drinking a glass of water Suga had poured for him.

 

It’s just Suga and Namjoon in the kitchen, only that changes when Jimin slides over to the kitchen counter, dropping a duffel bag with -- _holy fucking shit is that all money_?

 

Namjoon tries not to stare, but he doesn’t think he’s seen so much paper money all at once in his life. Maybe in bank heist movies, but that’s not _real_ ; _this_ is actual money. Like, maybe a thousand bucks, maybe even more.

 

Jimin eventually picks up on Namjoon’s staring (okay, but Jimin is counting the money, and Namjoon can hear him muttering the numbers -- Namjoon can’t help himself), and peers back over at him. He grins, bright and enthusiastic. “Gotta finish those taxes!” he says, sounding like some kind of salesman.

 

“You do it by hand?” Namjoon blinks, looking over the money Jimin’s already counted.

 

Jimin’s grip on one of the stacks of cash tightens, but his smile doesn’t disappear. Namjoon blinks; um, what if he’s just offended Jimin? Uh --

 

“Namjoon,” Suga says from across the room, refilling his glass of water. “You never told me what your song’s grade was.”

 

Namjoon sets his own glass onto the table, pushing his shoulders back. “Oh! Yeah, he graded it just today, actually, and I got the best grade I think I’ve ever had on anything,” he gushes, smiling warm. He catches Suga, looking at his water glass, smiling just the slightest bit, mouth twitching upward at the corners.

 

“That’s good. I’m glad I was able to help,” Suga nods, taking a sip from his glass. Off to Namjoon’s side, Jimin makes a noise off to the side, but Namjoon’s not really sure if it was a snicker or him choking on air.

 

“Yeah, thanks a million. I’d be dead without you,” Namjoon grins, running a finger along the rim of his glass. “And, speaking of which, I still haven’t really repaid you in any way, and ice cream hardly covers what you’ve done for me. Seriously, how can I repay you?” Namjoon says, looking over at Suga.

 

Suga looks off to the side, seemingly thinking, but instead of him answering, it’s Jimin who pipes up first.

 

“Oh, hey! Perfect, I know exactly what you should do: we’re going to the beach on Saturday! You should come with us. Maybe make Suga laugh s’more while we’re out,” Jimin says cheerily, slinging an arm over Namjoon’s shoulder, and Namjoon nearly jumps out of his skin, because _damn_ Jimin moves quick.

 

“Uh,” Namjoon looks over to Suga, because he doesn’t want to intrude on anything that might be special to him and his friends. Jimin looks over, too, and he must make some weird face at him, because Suga’s glaring daggers back at Jimin.

 

“I have a meeting with LE on Saturday,” Suga says slowly.

 

Namjoon doesn’t expect how quickly disappointment floods his bloodstream, and Jimin definitely felt his shoulders slump. He stands back upright as quickly as possible; he shouldn’t be pouty over the fact he doesn’t get to see Suga. “Oh,” Namjoon says, and at that exact moment, Jimin swings his head over to look at Suga again.

 

Jimin must be pouting at him this time, because Suga gives a begrudging sigh, rolling his eyes, and says, “But I’ll be there. I’ll be late, though.”

 

“Oh, cool -- ” Namjoon says, feeling a smile begin to form on his face, when Jimin speaks up.

 

“Great! So it’s decided! This Saturday, twelve in the afternoon. Bring snacks,” Jimin smacks Namjoon’s shoulder, and Namjoon promptly feels the wind knocked right out of his lungs. “But no alcohol, because we wanna be upstanding citizens. In a couple of ways, at least,” Jimin smiles down at Namjoon.

 

“I -- what?” Namjoon says stupidly, trying to process what’s just happened. Jimin doesn’t bat an eye, just continues to smile like world hunger has just been ended. Namjoon wants to ask a million questions, namely, why have you just taken the liberty to decide what my Saturday weekend is going to look like, when there’s footsteps coming from the living room.

 

It’s Jin, carrying five bags of groceries, and as soon as he catches sight of Namjoon, he looks over to Suga and says, “I didn’t know Namjoon was going to be here! Is he staying for dinner?”

 

Suga looks over at Jimin, making a vague gesture in Jin’s direction, and once Jimin peels away from Namjoon, hopping toward Jin, he turns back to Jin. “Sure. If that’s what he wants,” he says, and he glances over in Namjoon’s direction as he speaks.

 

Namjoon swallows; no _way_ is he gonna pass that opportunity up. And he’s about to say he’ll need to let Hoseok know he’s going to be late, when Jin answers for him, just like how Jimin stole Suga’s spotlight.

 

“Fantastic! Guess that means I should get started right now, huh?” Jin chimes, handing some of the bags to Jimin. “And don’t you dare disagree. I’ve already bought everything and I don’t want to have to drive all the way home to put it in _my_ fridge,” he says, and Namjoon realizes he’s talking to Suga, a finger pointed accusingly in his direction.

 

Suga squints at Jin, looking peeved. “Okay, first of all, this is my fucking house; what fucking right do you have -- ”

 

“You skip your meals almost five times a week because you ‘had a meeting,’ four if I’m lucky, your fridge is packed with almost nothing but sweets which _Tae_ eats almost exclusively, and whenever I give you protein bars you only eat half before you leave to hide away in your studio,” Jin counters instantly, confidently.

 

Jimin makes an impressed coo of, _Oh my god, you just got slammed_ , and his smile is fox-like as he begins unpacking everything. Suga just glowers, effectively silenced, and Jin is positively beaming. Namjoon can’t help but laugh, tucking his chin; Suga’s friends are the fucking best.

 

Jin takes it from there, making galbitang and a _lot_ of rice, and when Jimin gets up from his seat again to pitch in, they finish so fast Namjoon swears that there must have been more people helping them out.

 

Jin has everyone contribute to set everything up, and when everyone's seated, ready to dine, he realizes this is the first time he's seen Jimin without Jungkook. And then there’s, Taehyung, who isn’t here, either.

 

Suga’s taking his seat, and Jin’s just sliding the bowl of galbitang across the table, so Namjoon decides to direct his question at Jimin, who's already consumed a third of his rice.

 

“Where's Jungkook?” Namjoon asks when Jin turns around to turn the TV on for music. “Um -- if you don’t mind me asking, I mean,” he adds quickly, because it really isn’t his business to pry (maybe Jungkook’s just a funeral, or something).

 

Jimin swallows down a large bite of rice, and he clears his throat before he speaks. “He's out buying stuff,” he says, wiping his mouth with his napkin. He looks over at Jin, and then Suga, before looking back to Namjoon. “Like, dessert. Did you want anything? I can tell him right now.”

 

Namjoon eyes the fridge suspiciously -- he’s pretty sure that there are like, fifteen tubs of ice cream in the freezer -- and then looks back at Jimin, who already has his phone out.

 

“No, I’m fine. I was just curious,” Namjoon shakes his head, taking up his chopsticks and digging into his rice. Just as he’s about to take a bite, there’s a noise from Jimin’s direction. Namjoon glances up, and he sees that Jimin’s looking down at his phone, smiling wide. There’s a soft, “ _Love you Minnie_ ,” that floats up from his phone, and it almost sounds like Jungkook that’s speaking, followed by unintelligible yelling, before it cuts off. Jimin, still grinning down at his phone, suddenly looks up, and continues eating as though nothing’s happened.

 

“No phones at the table,” Jin points at Jimin with his chopsticks. Jimin rolls his eyes, smirking, but he complies, laying his phone face flat on his table. Suga clears his throat loudly, and Jimin raises his palms defensively, sliding his phone a couple inches further away, and then starts up on his galbitang without another word.

 

Namjoon tries to catch Suga’s gaze, just to ask him what’s wrong, but when he glances over at him, he sees he's busy eating his own rice. Namjoon decides to shrug off the odd exchange, taking a drink of his water.

 

“So where’s Tae? ‘Cause I don’t actually know where he is,” Jimin is asking Namjoon now, looking expectant.

 

Namjoon swallows down his water. Last he remembers, Hoseok said he had ‘plans’ for the evening with Taehyung, so maybe they went to the dance studio? Or maybe they stayed in at the apartment -- and that’s when Namjoon firmly tells himself _no,_ just _stop_ , do _not_ speculate about that possibility.

 

“I...dunno? He’s with Hoseok right now. That’s all I know,” Namjoon says (more like, that’s all he _wants_ to know).

 

Jimin bites on his tongue, grinning deviously. “Tae’s so fucking _thirsty_ , I swear to god,” he sighs amusedly, picking at his rice.

 

“When the heart wants,” Jin says with a shrug, and Namjoon thinks he casts a pointed look over at Suga, but it could be just a casual glance.

 

“Yeah, when the heart wants _dick_ ,” Jimin snorts, “He’s in so fucking deep. I was asking him what he wanted to do on Sunday, and you know what he told me? He said he was gonna go out watching _movies_ with his boyfriend. You know how difficult it is to get out with that guy? And on _weekends_ , for fuck’s sake.”

 

Namjoon laughs, because Jimin seems legitimately amazed by the relationship between his friend and Namjoon’s. In the past, Namjoon does remember Hobi liked to go out on lots of dates whenever he was with someone -- especially at night; said something about it being more romantic with the stars out -- so seeing Hoseok starting to do stuff closer to nighttime nowadays isn’t a huge shocker for him.

 

“Think of it like you and Kook: wouldn’t want to stay away from him too long, would you?” Jin mumbles through his napkin.

 

Jimin sighs, voice dripping with dreaminess. “Wouldn’t ever dream of it,” he says, and this time, Namjoon hears the honesty in his voice. There’s even a shine about Jimin’s eyes when he says it, like he’s staring into starlight. It’s raw affection and love, Namjoon thinks, and when he glances over to Suga to see his reaction, he’s --

 

\-- looking back at Namjoon.

 

Namjoon maintains his gaze for all of two seconds before he looks down at his bowl. What was _that?_ He swears he felt something in the air in those brief two seconds, something tangible. He looks back up at Suga, but Suga’s focused on his food again, eating quietly.

 

Namjoon’s quiet for the rest of dinner, Jimin blabbering and complaining to Jin about Taehyung and Hoseok, and Namjoon is left to wonder what that look Suga had given him meant -- if it meant anything at all.

 

\--

 

After dinner, Suga takes Namjoon home again, down the same route as always. His laptop bag is stuffed with more leftovers, courtesy of Jin, who had told Namjoon to _Come back anytime, Suga loves your company!_ And Namjoon’s pretty sure he saw Jin whispering something to Suga before he mounted the bike, but he was too far to catch anything.

 

The ride is quiet, kind of relaxing, and Suga seems to be cruising at a more casual pace than usual (maybe he’s just tired?). Namjoon just keeps his hands around Suga’s waist, anchoring himself and melting into Suga’s nice, familiar body warmth.

 

And then they’re pulling up in front of his apartment complex, and Namjoon’s climbing down and off the bike.

 

“Hey, so, I’ll see you tomorrow? Tomorrow night? Um, ten thirty?” Namjoon says, smiling as he hands Suga his helmet like he always has.

 

Suga nods, taking his helmet from Namjoon and resting it on his knee. “Tomorrow night,” he agrees, nodding. And he’s about to pull his helmet over his eyes, when Namjoon remembers --

 

“Hey, you never gave me a straight answer. I mean, uh, about how I could repay you,” Namjoon says, and Suga stills, blinking up at Namjoon. “Really. I dunno what to do, so, uh...did you have…anything you want?”

 

Suga lowers his helmet onto one of the handlebars of his bike, but doesn’t say anything. He looks over at Namjoon, and then his eyes fall a little lower, to Namjoon’s -- lips?

 

And before Namjoon can ask him if he’d like an expensive jacket (even though it’d probably kill his ass and his wallet to use up that much money, but this is _Suga_ ), Suga’s reaching out, and Namjoon feels his mouth drying out, because what _what what the heck is going on_ \--

 

And then Namjoon blanks. Because Suga’s tugging on his right hand, fingertips on his, and Namjoon lets his hand follow his touch.

 

Namjoon watches as Suga looks down at Namjoon’s hand, inspecting his skin, and he can’t say a single word -- he’s too busy being mesmerized by how Suga runs the pads of his fingers over the back of his hand, knuckles brushing up against his own. His touch is careful -- _caring_ , even, and Namjoon feels frozen to the spot.

 

Namjoon feels Suga turning his hand over, so Namjoon’s palm facing the sky, and he just...rests his palm over Namjoon’s. Namjoon shivers, head feeling light and dizzy, because this is -- _this is_ \--

 

And then Suga lets go of Namjoon’s hand, lets their fingers slide apart, and when the contact fades, Namjoon finds himself missing every second of the touch. He looks up at Suga, but he all he can think is, _what are words_? because he can’t find anything to say.

 

“Thank you,” Suga murmurs, then, and he’s putting his helmet on. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Ten thirty. Goodnight, Namjoon.”

 

And Suga’s driving off, pushing right off of the curve and down the street. Namjoon watches him leave, and if Namjoon wasn’t paying attention more, he’d be falling flat on his face right there. His hand still feels tingly, nerves an absolute frenzy, and he still feels the ghost sensation of Suga’s hand over his own; cool, soothing.

 

Namjoon barely gets a wink of sleep that night, lying flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling and feeling very much like he could float away.

 

\--

 

All throughout the morning, from the second Namjoon wakes up from his three hour night of sleep, and on through music class, Namjoon can’t think straight for shit. Whatever his teacher tells the class at the beginning goes right over Namjoon’s head, because all his mind is looping is the touch of Suga’s hand on his.

 

Thankfully, all they do in class is work on music composition for their albums, except that leaves way too much room for Namjoon to think about stuff.

 

Like, about how Namjoon feels about Suga. Ugh, that sounds so fucking _cheesy_ , even if it’s just a thought to himself.

 

If Namjoon’s really being one hundred and twenty two percent honest with himself, he’s...probably had a little crush on Suga since he first drove up to Starbucks, walked right through the entrance, ordered and picked up a citrus green tea frappuccino with a smile. And _maybe_ that little crush has kinda been snowballing for the past week (earlier, even) right in front of his fucking face. And _maybe_ Namjoon’s been consistently telling himself he’s got no chance at trying anything with Suga.

 

So...so now what? What the fuck is Namjoon supposed to do? What is he supposed to think of all of that? How is he supposed to _not_ think about all of... _that_? Everything’s just taken a three-hundred-sixty degree turn, and Namjoon was not prepared at fucking all.

 

And then -- and then, here’s Jackson, too. Jackson. _Jackson Wang._ What is Namjoon supposed to do with Jackson?

 

Eventually, after long hours of thought, Namjoon breaks his dilemma up like this: Namjoon has a thing for Suga, and Suga may have a thing for Namjoon. Jackson definitely(?) has a thing for Namjoon, and Namjoon _probably_ _maybe_ has a thing for Jackson (because of his smile and his stupid jokes and his ridiculously nice biceps and especially how he talks and how friendly he is and _ugh_ ). And then Jackson’s also sort of...disappeared, so... _so_?

 

 _Don’t lead Jackson on,_ Jinyoung said, and _hey_ , Namjoon is trying real hard to get a handle on his  situation, but it’s sort of difficult because Namjoon can’t even get a handle on himself.

 

This is all just one huge clusterfuck, and Namjoon has no fucking idea what’s right and what’s wrong, because he _certainly_ has never been faced with anything like all of _this_.

 

But hey, today’s Friday, meaning maybe he can sort this shit out? Maybe? He’ll see Jackson, and maybe ask him if everything’s okay, and he’ll see Suga, and maybe ask him what the hand...stuff...was...and then maybe the world’ll be a little easier to understand.

 

Maybe. Namjoon can only hope.

 

\--

 

Namjoon can’t help but watch the time wind down at work, like he did weeks before, pulling his phone out to check the time. After every drink and every pastry, he digs his phone out, only to shove it away, because _calm down;_ you’ve still got _half an hour_ until six fifteen.

 

Jinyoung seems to see Namjoon’s anxiousness with just a glance, taking note of his nervousness,  but never saying anything other than a single, “You okay?” and then dropping it when Namjoon gives a jerky nod.

 

At six o’ eight,  Namjoon’s going over what he’s gonna tell Jackson ( _Hey, so it’s been a while_ , or _So how’s it? Same thing as usual)_.

 

At six eleven, Namjoon starts doubting if he’s actually going to be able to pull this whole _question_ stuff off, because yeah, it’s just a couple of sentences, or whatever, but beneath each individual letter, Namjoon’s kind of on the edge, and really just wants to get straight to the point.

 

At six fourteen, Namjoon’s sending off a little girl with a hot chocolate, and when he turns around, Jinyoung’s looking at him with an odd expression. It’s not the usual, _I’m judging you for real right now_ look, and it’s not the _you’d better get your act together_ look. It’s a more... _sympathetic_ look, Namjoon thinks; almost sad. Namjoon has no clue why.

 

And then, right before six fifteen, Jinyoung’s saying, “Bathroom break. You know the drill,” and he disappears behind the back door.

 

And at six fifteen, Namjoon’s…

 

...alone.

 

At six fifteen, there’s no rumble of Jackson’s bike. There’s no blur of black bursting through the doorway, loud and all-consuming. There’s nobody coming up to the counter to order a venti peppermint mocha frappuccino, extra chocolate chips, extra chocolate sauce, triple whip.

 

There’s no _Jackson_.

 

And at six sixteen, Namjoon thinks, _so this is what it’s like to be stood up at Starbucks_ . It feels stupid to think of it like that, but then it’s even more stupid when Namjoon realizes that this isn’t even a fucking _date_. Why the hell is he getting so worked up over all of this?

 

But maybe spending time with Jackson _was_ like a date. Talking for hours on end, discussing GMO’s and terrible Asian jokes and insoles and rice dishes. Lunches, basketball games, just _talking_ \--

 

And Namjoon comes to the conclusion that he really just wants to _talk_ to Jackson. And maybe Jinyoung’s wrong; maybe Jackson doesn’t like him, and everything going on in Namjoon’s head is just the result of a bunch of emotions and hormones bottled up like a cocktail, and he’s drinking it all down too fast. But Namjoon feels like it would all be better if he could just see Jackson and just say hi, just _talk_ to him.

 

He...he misses Jackson.

 

At six seventeen, Namjoon hears a motorcycle pulling up. It’s not Jackson’s.

 

But there’s no way it could be; it’s already two minutes past six fifteen and Jackson’s motorcycle does _not_ sound like that.

 

Namjoon doesn’t even both looking outside to see who it is; it’s probably just another gang member looking for a macchiato or an iced americano. Namjoon doesn’t care right now; he’s too caught up contemplating whether or not he should be lecturing himself for thinking too hard or telling himself that this all is a legitimate thing, that’s it’s not all in his head.

 

Even when the door opens, Namjoon hesitates to look up. He kind of wishes Jinyoung wasn’t in the bathroom, and that Namjoon was the one in the bathroom, so he could look himself in the eyes in the mirror and demand he get his shit together.

 

But Jinyoung’s not there, so Namjoon’s got no other option but to look up and say hello, and right when he’s halfway through saying “ _Good evening_ ,” he nearly stops cold.

 

It’s Blondie.

 

Here. In Namjoon’s Starbucks. What the _fuck._

 

“Good evening,” Namjoon manages to say clearly, doing his best not to fidget (it’s difficult, with Namjoon beginning to remember all the _looks_ Blondie had given out at that one basketball game; to Namjoon and to Jackson).

 

Tonight, Blondie’s in a black hoodie, white text printed along the sleeves. He looks around the store, at the ceiling, around at the windows (almost like he’s _ignoring_ Namjoon), and Namjoon’s about to ask him what he wants, when Blondie nods.

 

“It is a good evening,” Blondie says, voice velvety, like some pricey fabric, not at all like Jackson’s own, roughed up tone. And finally, Blondie looks up at Namjoon, and he’s grinning like he’s hiding nuclear launch codes.

 

“What’d you like tonight?” Namjoon asks slowly. He remembers Jinyoung telling him, _Don’t do that_ , but Namjoon isn’t even sure what _that_ is, and now he wishes more than ever that Jinyoung hadn’t decided to go on his stupid bathroom break.

 

Blondie squints at the menu, humming softly to himself as he reads off the choices. Normally, this is when Namjoon offers his own opinion on what he thinks tastes good, but this does not feel normal at all.

 

“I’d like a grande cinnamon roll frappuccino,” Blondie decides after a while, and wait, what? That’s an item from the stupid Starbucks’ secret menu. Of course, Blondie picks up on Namjoon’s hesitation to put in his order, and grins a little wider. “Only if you can make it,” he adds, and Namjoon just _knows_ he’s referring to Namjoon’s own ability to make coffee, not the availability of the drink.

 

“It’s good. I can make it,” Namjoon says, fighting to keep the irritation out of his voice. He punches in his order, and reluctantly, asks, “Is that all you’ll have tonight?”

 

Blondie bites on his lower lip, looking over at the fridge, and come the _fuck on,_ it can’t be that fucking hard to pick a goddamn pastry, or some shit like that.

 

Namjoon’s losing his patience, about to ask him again, _Is that all you’d fucking like tonight?_ , when Blondie nods.

 

“I want a venti peppermint mocha frappuccino, with extra chocolate chips, extra chocolate sauce, and triple whip,” Blondie says, a perfect recitation of Jackson’s order. And then he has the gall to add, “Please.”

 

And -- and Namjoon almost _keels_ , because that fucking _hurts._ That’s the exact fucking order Jackson made when he first ran up to the counter, the one Namjoon’s become so used to making over the course of just three Fridays, but it’s not _Jackson_ that’s ordering. It’s _this_ guy, who’s just grinning like absolutely nothing is wrong.

 

Namjoon doesn’t say anything, just enters in the additional order wordlessly, and he doesn’t dare to look up at Blondie. There’s fury and disgust and despair swimming in his gut all at once, and he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth, he’s going to scream.

 

Namjoon tells Blondie the amount that’s due, and Blondie has the nerve to take his time unzipping his wallet, thumbing around the paper bills listlessly, before he finally hands Namjoon the money. As Namjoon’s calculating the change (he gave Namjoon _way_ too much money; like, ten bucks over what he needed), Blondie keeps his hand out, waiting to get his money back, and Namjoon nearly shoves the coins and dollar back into his palm.

 

“Name?” Namjoon says, sharpie in one hand cup in the other. _Great_ , he thinks bleakly. Now he’ll have an actual name to Blondie’s face. Fucking fantastic.

 

Blondie leans forward onto the counter, elbows propping him up, but Namjoon doesn’t back away because he’s not scared. And then Blondie purses his lips. “Just MT is fine,” he says, and that’s exactly what Namjoon scribbles down on both cups.

 

“I’ll be done in just a second,” Namjoon says, and he can barely summon even a fake smile at this point.

 

Blondie (Namjoon is _not_ calling him MT; the only person Namjoon thinks has a decent double-initial nickname is Jaebum, and Namjoon doesn’t even call him JB), however, is able to smile perfectly fine, the pearly whites of his teeth shining annoyingly bright. “Take your time,” he says, before he saunters over to the take-out counter.

 

And Namjoon does _not_ take his fucking time; he wants this guy out of his sight as soon as fucking possible. Yeah, he hasn’t really done anything to Namjoon, but Namjoon doesn’t have a single good feeling about the guy, and he’s not planning on finding out why. He starts up on the stupid cinnamon roll frappuccino, and he swears he can feel Blondie’s eyes stabbing into the nape of his neck. But he stays focused; the goal is to be done as quickly as possible, so no distractions.

 

And Namjoon wonders, does Blondie even recognize Namjoon? There’s really no way he doesn’t (really; the guy stared at Namjoon for a straight three minutes at that basketball game), but Blondie hasn’t even said anything to Namjoon other than his order. Namjoon just hopes his existence is insignificant enough to Blondie for him to forget all about him from that Saturday.

 

When Namjoon’s done with the cream and the syrup (both portions are slightly lesser than the usual amount he typically adds with anything), and has popped a lid on, he silently slides the drink across the counter. “Cinnamon roll frap,” he says, turning around as soon as Blondie takes a step forward.

 

He takes one stride over to the cup bearing the writing, _PMM,_ and the second he gets his fingers around it he hears Blondie piping up behind him.

 

“I’m picking that up for a friend, so make sure to do your best,” Blondie says, and Namjoon goes absolutely still. There’s only one person he could possibly be referring to.

 

Namjoon grits his teeth as he starts of Jackson’s coffee; he’s going to make the best fucking peppermint mocha this earth’s ever fucking seen. He starts out confident, adding the first extra layer of chocolate syrup, when he falters.

 

Because...if Blondie’s ‘friend’ really _is_ Jackson, then wouldn’t that mean that Jackson’s...okay? That idea itself is a huge relief, but then, if Jackson’s okay, wouldn’t that also mean he’d pick the drink up himself? Maybe Jackson’s busy? At work? There’s...there’s no way that he had Blondie pick it up because he didn’t want to see Namjoon. Right?

 

Namjoon frantically starts picking through his memory for anything he’s done wrong (this isn’t the first time he’s done this), for anything he might’ve said to offend or irritate Jackson, but there’s _nothing_.

 

 _No, no_ , Namjoon shakes his head. _Stop overthinking shit_. If Jackson was really upset, the least Namjoon can do is make something nice for him.

 

He finishes off the cream (definitely added more than usual), and he makes the final cross hatch pattern with the syrup before he pops a lid on. He glances over at Blondie, and _yes_ , he’s not looking his way, and Namjoon quickly grabs at the sharpie lying on the counter. He pops the cap off, and then he wonders, what the fuck is he supposed to write? “ _Hope you’re doing okay_ ?” “ _How’s life_ ?” “ _Please don’t be mad at me_ ?” “ _I’m sorry_ ?” “ _Miss you_?”

 

And Namjoon settles for a simple, “ _Hope you enjoy_!”, followed by a smiley face and his initials, because that seems...low-key enough.

 

He slips a carrier sleeve over the writing, adding a small arrow pointing beneath it (because with Namjoon’s nonexistent luck, Jackson’s going to just chug it and toss it), and finally steps back over to the take-out counter.

 

“Peppermint mocha,” Namjoon calls, and Blondie waltzes right up to the counter to take it from him. He eyes Blondie warily as he grabs the drink; it’s just... _weird_ , to have someone other than Jackson taking his drink. “Have a nice night,” he says, and he’s about to walk away when he makes the mistake of making eye contact with Blondie.

 

Namjoon jerks away as quickly as possible, whirling on heel, because that was _not_ an invitation to a conversation, and he’s waiting to count the footsteps Blondie will take right out of those glass doors, please just _go_ \--

 

“Oh, I remember you now.”

 

Blondie’s voice is soft, and Namjoon’s torn between replying with a casual, _Haha, you must be mistaken_ , and a _Please get the fuck out of my Starbucks_. God, where is Jinyoung when you need him?.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Blondie’s saying, like he’s talking to himself, smiling. “I saw you at the basketball game last Saturday. Right?”

 

 _Congratulations on putting that together just now_ , Namjoon almost says sardonically, but he turns around and responds with a clipped, “Right.”

 

Blondie takes a sip from his frappuccino, finger raised to signal he’s going to say something. “You’re Kim Namjoon,” he says, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Namjoon freezes up at the sound of his own name, like he’s being cornered.

 

“That’s me,” Namjoon says weakly, quietly. Why can’t this guy just leave him _alone?_

 

Blondie tilts his head to the side. “You know, you’re all that Jackson talks about,” he says, and Namjoon blinks, but then he’s adding, “Do you know how annoying that gets?”

 

 _Surely not as annoying as having someone treat you like you’re nothing but eye candy_ , Namjoon wants to spit, but he’s gone cold.

 

“I think it’s really cute,” Blondie says, smile sharpening. “But it gets annoying fast,” he sighs. “I mean, I love seeing him so happy, but it’s all he does -- ” Blondie pauses, mouthing silent ‘blah blah blah’s. “ -- talk, talk, talk. I liked it better when he said stuff that was actually worth listening to.”

Namjoon’s mind is blanking; all he can feel is his face heating up, and he realizes he’s feeling _embarrassed._ He stares down at the ground, blinking rapidly.

 

“I didn’t mean to offend you, just. Y’know. Putting it out there,” Blondie sighs, but there’s no hint of apology in his voice. And then he’s slamming the drinks against the counter, leaning into Namjoon’s space, and he says darkly, “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

 

And Namjoon takes a step back, face heating up even more, because what the fuck is this guy’s _problem --_

 

“What the fuck are you doing here.”

 

It’s Jinyoung, standing in the doorway to the back. His palm is on the door, phone in his other hand, and he’s looking straight past Namjoon and right at Blondie.

 

Blondie pushes off of the counter instantly, both drinks in hand, but he’s still wearing that awful smirk. “Hey, Junior. I was wondering why you weren’t out front,” he sniffs.

 

Jinyoung’s eye twitches at the sound of the nickname, but he stands tall. “I said. What the _fuck_ are you doing here.”

 

Blondie bites down on his lip, smirking wider. “I came to say hello,” and then he waves both drinks in the air. “And also to get something to drink,” he cocks a brow, an obvious feign of innocence. “Why, am I doing something wrong?”

 

Namjoon sees Jinyoung’s jaw tighten, his eyes narrowing. “You and I both know you never swing by anyone just to say ‘hello,’” he says, hand clenched into a fist against the doorframe.

 

At this, Blondie pouts, but Namjoon feels nothing but the cold. At this point, he wonders how he’s still standing upright on two feet. “Please, Junior, I’m just purchasing beverages. You want me to take the drive-thru next time?” Blondie says breezily.

 

“I don’t want you here at all, if all you’re going to do is make everyone here miserable,” Jinyoung spits, and when Namjoon glances into Jinyoung’s eyes, he’s nearly certain he’s going to launch himself at Blondie and claw his eyes out.

 

“Aw, you’re killing me,” Blondie says, but obviously, he’s taking immense pleasure in pressing all of Jinyoung’s buttons. “Aren’t we friends?”

 

“Fuck _off_ , Mark,” Jinyoung finally groans, rolling his eyes.

 

Blondie -- Mark, takes a sip of his frappuccino, and Namjoon thinks he’s _laughing_. “I’m going, I’m going,” he says, starting walking backwards, and before he turns around he shoots that same, revolting, challenging stare at Namjoon. “I’ll see ya,” he chimes, pushing through the door, and then he’s gone.

 

And Namjoon just kind of...stands there.

 

“Are you okay?” Jinyoung is right next to Namjoon, a hand on his shoulder.

 

 _No,_ Namjoon wants to say. _I’m not okay. I’m kind of shaking and I’m not thinking straight and I kind of want to go curl up and fucking die_.

 

“I’m fine,” Namjoon lies, lightly shrugging Jinyoung’s palm off of his shoulders.

 

Jinyoung doesn’t buy Namjoon’s answer, and Namjoon’s not sure whether he should be grateful or exasperated. “What did he say to you?” Jinyoung says quietly, eyes flickering over to the counter, probably checking for a line, but there’s no one.

 

Namjoon blinks, remembering what Mark had sneered at him. _You’ve got it bad,_ he’d said, and Namjoon knows there’s only one person he could possibly be referring to, only one _it_ he could be referring to. He peers up at Jinyoung and swallows. He can’t tell him.

 

“Nothing,” Namjoon shakes his head. He just wants to forget about this, get through these agonizing hours until he can finally see Suga.

 

Suga.

 

“I’m fine, Jinyoung, I swear,” Namjoon says assuringly, and he turns away so Jinyoung doesn’t see how his face is twisting up with pain and confusion, because everything’s all -- fucked up.

 

 _You’ve got it bad,_ Mark had said. The words repeat, over and _over_ , and everytime he hears it, he thinks of Jackson laughing, Jackson yelling, Jackson smiling, and -- and.

 

He thinks of Suga. Suga rolling his eyes, Suga rapping, Suga smiling.

 

Namjoon needs a break from all of this.

 

\--

 

Namjoon swears that four hours have never gone by so slowly in his entire life.

 

There are lots of gang members that night, making it impossible for him to forget about six seventeen, making it impossible for him to relax even the slightest bit. Every time some kid shoves their way through the door, yelling over their shoulder at their buddies, Namjoon’s reminded of six seventeen. And Jackson and Suga.

 

Jinyoung seems to take extra care to tread carefully around Namjoon, never mentioning Mark or Jackson. He just treats him with a questioning glance every now and then, and Namjoon can tell he’s worried, judging by how much space Jinyoung’s giving him (and yes, the gesture’s nice, but Namjoon just feels like shit right now).

 

“Take care,” Jinyoung says when his shift’s done, heading out from the counter. He looks back at Namjoon one more time before he leaves for his car, and Namjoon smiles, waves him off.

 

It’s nice and quiet after that, but Namjoon isn’t sure if he likes it all that much. It gives him too much room to think, and Namjoon’s just done enough thinking for like, the week. What Namjoon would give to be able to just sleep for a million years.

 

And he’s so fucking distracted, he barely even catches the clock before it runs down to ten thirty, and this time, he does hear the tell-tale growl of someone’s bike (bikes. Plural. There are two pulling up).

 

His knees feel kind of weak, but he’s able to stand up straight enough (to look like he’s got himself under control), and he manages a small smile when he sees Jimin bursting through the door, light brown hair mussed and frizzy (probably from his helmet).

 

“Hey, Namjoon!” Jimin calls, very loudly, and as Namjoon waves back at him, he sees Suga shoving past Jimin, and in seconds, he’s disappeared into the bathroom (long drive, maybe…?).

 

Jimin’s bounding over to the counter, looking positively ecstatic, and it’s really hard for Namjoon not to smile himself when Jimin looks so cheery.

 

“Happy Friday! How’s your night going?” Jimin says, grinning ear to ear.

 

“Okay, I guess,” Namjoon shrugs weakly, and he nearly slaps himself. _No_ , he tells himself sternly. _stop; stop remembering, stop remembering, start forgetting. Suga’s here, and so is Jimin_ . Knock it _off._

 

Jimin is quick (almost _too_ quick) to pick up on Namjoon’s discomfort, squinting and wrinkling his nose. “Just _okay_ , you guess?” he parrots. “Well, let it be _okay_ no more; Suga and I are here to make all your troubles disappear,” he says, arms folded confidently.

 

“Guess I should thank you, then,” Namjoon says, laughing a little. “So you want the usual tonight?”

 

“You bet,” Jimin gives a thumbs up, before pulling his wallet out. As he’s searching for the change, he looks back up at Namjoon with a smile. “Oh, don’t forget Kookie’s; grande hot chocolate.”

 

Namjoon taps the screen of the register, and -- huh. This is the second time he’s seen a Jungkook-less Jimin (that’s so cute that Jimin calls Jungkook ‘Kookie’). “Sure. Where’s he at tonight?”

 

Jimin smacks his lips, looking off to the side. “Ah, he’s sleeping at home. He asked me to get him his stuff. And also to tell you he said hi.”

 

“Oh. Well, let him know I said hi back,” Namjoon gives a small smile, and he turns around to start work on the drinks. As he starts up on Jimin’s espresso, he glances over at Jimin, who’s swaying left and right on his heels, looking down at his phone. He seems awfully happy tonight.

 

“What’s got you so cheery tonight?” Namjoon calls over his shoulder, and Jimin looks up from his phone.

 

“Oh, nothing. I’m just a happy guy,” Jimin shrugs with a smile. “And I can’t wait for tomorrow. The weather’s gonna be perfect all day. That is, if my weather app isn’t lying.”

 

“Really? What’s the forecast?” Namjoon says, enjoying how Jimin seems to be open to small talk. It’s a very much needed distraction.

 

Jimin takes his phone back out, and after a couple of swipes, says, “Mmmm, seventy seven degrees, clear skies. Imagine that? Maybe you’re a good luck charm.”

 

“I wish,” Namjoon snorts, but he’s still smiling. If only he could control his luck; _that_ would be real useful.

 

“No, seriously,” Jimin says, smiling, but he sounds...serious. “You don’t just bring sunshine to the sky, you bring it to Suga’s life, too.”

 

Namjoon blinks. “I -- what?”

 

Jimin peers down at Namjoon’s hands, and he starts pointing urgently. “Ah, _ah_! Careful, you’re gonna spill!” he says with haste, eyes wide.

 

Namjoon whips his head around, and he pulls his hand off of the lever literally just before the espresso kisses the lip of the cup. Nice save. “Uh, sorry, thanks,” he mumbles, moving over to the syrup dispensers.

 

And then Namjoon finishes off his espresso, passing it over to Jimin, who’s on his phone, undoubtedly texting Jungkook. Namjoon tosses a glance over in the direction of the bathroom. Suga hasn’t come outside yet.

 

“Is Suga okay?” Namjoon asks, before he can even process the question in his head. Oops.

 

Jimin follows Namjoon’s stare, and he puffs his cheeks out, like he’s looking for the right words. “Ahh, Suga got stuff on his hands, he’s just cleaning it off right now. He’ll be done in a second, probably,” he nods, before smiling again.

 

Namjoon nods, and slides back over to make Jungkook’s hot chocolate. Things are going great, fantastic, even, except he kind of zones out on the chocolate as it’s filling up the cup, because he’s realizing just how _lucky_ Jimin is to have the perfect boyfriend, the perfect relationship; to have everything already sorted out and neatly put together.

 

He glances back at Jimin, who’s giggling down at his phone, and if he’s texting Jungkook, Namjoon swears he’s never seen anything so cute in his life. He decides he’s going add chocolate and chips and cream to Jungkook’s hot chocolate, just because they’re so perfect, and --

 

“Ow! _Fuck_ \-- ” Namjoon jerks his hand away, and of fucking course, he’s caught a stream of hot chocolate on his thumb as he was pulling the cup back. _Fucking shit._

 

“Namjoon?” comes Suga’s voice from behind, lilted with what can only be concern. Namjoon spins on heel, holding his slightly hurt (read: dead and dying) hand.

 

“Uh, hey,” Namjoon swallows, because Suga’s looking right at him with those dark, cool eyes, and Namjoon can’t believe he almost fucked up Jungkook’s hot chocolate just now. Right in front of Suga.

 

“Your hand,” Suga’s gaze drops, and Namjoon looks down too. The skin’s just a little red on the first knuckle of his thumb; he’s fine. It’s fine. Probably.

 

“I’m okay; it was just a little spill,” Namjoon tries his best at a smile, but ow, _fucking ow_ , that shit hurts like hell, _what the fuck._ He hopes his suffering isn’t showing up too much on his face; wouldn’t want Suga to worry about him. He grips Jungkook’s cup again to prove that he’s okay, that everything’s great, and he pops a lid on it before he can scream, sliding it across the takeout counter (shit, he forgot about the extra whipped cream and extra chocolate).

 

“I told you to be more careful,” Jimin tuts, taking the hot chocolate with his free hand. “You should probably rinse your hand.”

 

“Yeah, sorry,” Namjoon says sheepishly (he’s not going to tell Jimin he got distracted thinking about him and Jungkook, even if it probably would make Jimin’s night). He makes his way over to the sink, and sighs in relief when the water hits his hand.

 

As he’s drying off his hands with a towel (ironically, the same one he used to wipe up Suga’s jacket the first time he saw him), he notices that Suga’s looking at him. Namjoon feels heat on the nape of his neck, spreading to his cheeks and ears, when Suga speaks up.

 

“Are you okay?” Suga says, a little quiet. Suddenly, Namjoon notices how the whole store’s grown calmer calmer; there are only a couple of people on their laptops lounging around (and also leeching off of the wifi for hours on end, the fuckers. But Namjoon does that, too, sometimes, so he can’t be all that mad).

 

Namjoon tosses the towel aside, and even if his thumb stings a little (a _lot_ ), he’s still got Suga’s frappuccino to make. “I’m okay,” Namjoon tries his best to reassure Suga, already grabbing at the plastic cup to start his frappuccino. He sighs, “S-sorry, I’m never this shaky.”

 

He ducks his head, getting right to it with Suga’s frappuccino. He’s still feeling a little anxious, because he’s _not_ about to screw up Suga’s drink, not tonight, not ever, as he starts to zone in on  when he hears Suga talking again.

 

“You’re upset,” Suga observes. It’s more of a statement than a question, Namjoon can tell, and he’s about to answer when his voice gets caught in his throat.

 

Because Suga was able to tell he wasn’t a hundred percent. Just by Namjoon fucking up someone’s order. _Fuck._

 

Namjoon pulls Suga’s cup away, turning around to add the cream and lemon. He can’t lie to Suga, but also, he doesn’t want to worry him any further. That’d be bad.

 

“Well, I got, uh, harassed by a customer earlier today, so I’m not really, um, feeling so hot right now,” Namjoon admits, doing his best to pay attention to the amount of cream he’s adding. He prays that Suga’s not gonna take it too seriously, that it’ll just be nothing, a nuisance --

 

“There’s someone messing with you?” Suga says, and Namjoon blinks at the level of edge in his voice _._ He looks up toward Suga, and he going still at the sight of so much -- _concern_ , in his eyes, the solicitude overwhelming. Namjoon shivers.

 

“Don’t worry about it; it was just someone that wanted a lot of cream,” Namjoon says nervously, trying to laugh it off a little (and fails. Miserably. He swears he sounds like a dying dolphin).

 

Suga obviously doesn’t take Namjoon’s dishonesty with a grain of salt, jaw tightening, but he doesn’t ask about it anymore. Namjoon jumps the opportunity to change the subject; enough worrying about him.

 

“So, um, you’ll be at the beach tomorrow, right?” Namjoon blurts out, and what the fuck, of _course_ Suga’s gonna be there, he’s just gonna be late.

 

Suga blinks, hands in his pockets. “Yeah,” he nods. “I’ll be running late, though. Sorry.”

 

“Don’t sweat it,” Namjoon says quickly, adding the last bit of lemon to his drink.

 

But really, Namjoon doesn’t want Suga to worry about it at all, because Suga already has so much to deal with. And Suga worrying over anything is undoubtedly going to have _Namjoon_ worrying, and he’s already worrying over about fifty different things. Like, obviously, there are things going on right now between himself and Jackson (even if the whole ordeal is pretty much comprised of a whole lot of distance), and then Namjoon probably has to keep on the lookout for Mark, and maybe Namjoon should get all of it sorted out, but --

 

Hey. Tomorrow’s Saturday -- beach day, with Suga and his friends. Where Namjoon can (hopefully) relax. And maybe think a little less. And possibly even enjoy himself.

 

Namjoon twists a lid over Suga’s drink, quickly passing it across the takeout counter. “Can’t wait for tomorrow,” Namjoon lets slip out, thoughts bouncing around too fast in his head (but also, Namjoon doesn’t remember the last time he’s been to the beach. College does things to your freetime).

 

Suga blinks at Namjoon, and he’s got that sort of speechless (that’s what Namjoon’s concluded it is) look again, mouth parted and eyes shining, and if Namjoon’s being real honest, he feels that way too pretty much everytime he’s around Suga.

 

“Me too,” Suga nods, coughing into his knuckles, before taking his drink from the counter, looking down at his drink. He takes a single sip, before he’s being nudged by Jimin.

 

“I hate to kill your beautiful moment, but, ah, just got a text,” Jimin is saying, and he’s still smiling, so whatever’s just happened can’t be _that_ awful. Hopefully. “We’re needed back at the site.”

 

Suga clears his throat, and he brushes Jimin’s hand off of his sleeve. “Okay,” he says, and if Namjoon thinks on it he kind of sounds...irritated. Suga looks up at Namjoon, and with a sigh, says, “I have to run.”

 

Namjoon will admit, that kind of sucks, because Namjoon really wanted to talk to Suga. Like, not just about the hand thing -- even though that is still a _huge fucking deal_ \-- but it’s only ten forty one; a lot earlier than when Suga typically leaves. _But_ \-- Namjoon’s also not going to get in the way of Suga’s work.

 

“Oh, um, sure. G’night, then,” Namjoon nods, tapping his fingers on the counter. “See you tomorrow.”

 

“See you tomorrow,” Suga echoes, like he always has.

 

Jimin follows up with a boisterous, “Have a nice night, Namjoon! Hope you feel better.” And then the both of them are outside. Namjoon waves, and as soon as the door’s closed he sighs.

 

What the fuck has Namjoon gotten himself into?

 

\--

 

Suga waits until the door’s completely shut behind him before he rounds on Jimin.

 

“What was that?” he demands, eyes darting back over his shoulder to check on Namjoon, who’s already turned around and cleaning the counter with a towel.

 

Jimin takes a long sip from his espresso, raising his eyebrows. “What was what?”

 

“You know what I’m talking about,” Suga says, and he’s tempted to jab a finger into Jimin’s shoulder, but he retains most of his composure, settling for a harsh glare. Namjoon could have connected the dots back there, and it’s thanks to Jimin, whom Suga was trusting to keep his mouth shut _._

 

“Relax, all I said was ‘the site.’ I think that’s unspecific enough,” Jimin sighs, as if he’s done no wrong, as if he thinks Suga still has a chance with Namjoon. But Suga can already feel any inclination to even make an _attempt at_ anything flirtatious with Namjoon slowly starting to chip away, left with the need to protect Namjoon, keep him safe, because if he doesn’t get this fixed fast, he’s going to scare Namjoon off before he can even hold his hand for real.

 

“You’re supposed to keep quiet about the affairs,” Suga says tersely. God, his friends can be so _dense_ ; Suga can’t control what they do with their mouths at all (and he’s not just referring to speech).

 

“I know, I did great, huh?” Jimin beams, too bright for Suga to feel comfortable.

 

Suga narrows his eyes; he’s being _serious_ . He doesn’t want to risk _any_ chance of Namjoon being caught up in anything; he doesn’t want him getting _hurt_. “I’m trying to be discreet,” he says in a low voice.

 

Jimin gives Suga a disbelieving look, as if he’s just spoken in five different languages all at once. “Okay, what? _Why_? Is this the CIA, or something?” he says, almost laughing. “Suga, you’re the leader of an entire fucking _gang._ I dunno about you, but that’s not something you just fix overnight. Or ever, actually.”

 

Suga is tempted to splash the contents of his drink all over Park Jimin’s godforsaken leather jacket, but a) Namjoon made this drink for him, b) _Namjoon_ made this drink _for him_ , and c) he’s pretty sure that Jungkook bought that sweater for Jimin a couple weeks back; he’s not so terrible that he’ll ruin couple gifts. And, as much as Suga loathes to admit it, Jimin has a point.

 

“Yeah, well, what do you propose I do now?” Suga drawls, dry.

 

Jimin sighs, shrugging and taking another swig of his drink. “You let him decide whether or not he can live with you as you are,” he says. “I mean, you haven’t exactly _lied_ to him, but you haven’t shown him the full picture, either. So that’s kind of good! Means you don’t have any cover to actually blow.”

 

Suga doesn’t say anything, just takes a moment to imagine Namjoon looking at Suga with some expression of disgust, like Suga’s some hideous monster, or with some look of hatred, or even worse -- one of _fear_. Suga’s never felt so sick in his life.

 

After a moment, Jimin shifts his weight to the other foot, quirking his mouth to the side. “Look, the way I see it is that you need to just _trust_ him. Because hey, I do! Like, he doesn’t seem like the kind of asshole that’s gonna turn tail and run for the hills the instant something goes wrong,” he says, and Suga closes his eyes. “If you show that _you_ trust _him_ , don’t you think _he’ll_ trust _you?”_

 

“It’s not that easy,” Suga says, voice turning hoarse.

 

“It won’t be easy if you keep acting like Namjoon’s a fucking kid!” Jimin says, tone rising, but he isn’t loud enough to be fully yelling. “You like him, okay? You really, really, _really_ like him. Like, both your dick _and_ your heart are really fucking into him, so just _trust_ him,” he says, quieting a little, but he sounds sharper, more direct. “Trust yourself.”

 

Suga shuts his eyes again. Trust yourself, Jimin says, but Suga knows he’s really trying to say _._ “I’ll try,” he says, fingers tightening around his drink.  “But I want you to at least _try_ and be discreet,” he blinks his eyes open, glancing at Namjoon, who’s still standing at the counter, facing the register, now. “Namjoon ”

 

Jimin nods, releasing a loud, airy sigh. “Thank god, thought I was gonna have to call up Jin to punch some sense into you.”

 

Suga just snorts, mounting his bike and tucking his drink snug into the back. As he starts up his engine, he glances up one final time to look at Namjoon, and standing alone behind the counter, he just looks so lonely, and Suga doesn’t like it at all, wants to walk right back into the Starbucks and return to their chat. He wants to be with Namjoon; wants Namjoon to be _happy_.

 

“I have something I want you to do,” Suga clears his throat, fingers gripping the handles tight,

 

Jimin is swinging his legs over his own bike, drinks already put away. “Sure; need me to beat the shit out of someone?” he cracks his knuckles, grinning wide again. At least one of them’s back to normal.

 

“I want you to keep an eye on Namjoon for the next week,” Suga says, watching Namjoon talking to one of his co workers, peeking their head out from the back.

 

“Okay, I’m glad you’ve come to fully accept your feelings, but what happened to being discreet?” Jimin looks over at Namjoon, too, chuckling. “Like, I’m pretty sure you _just_ told me you didn’t want him involved in anything.”

 

“ _No_ \-- that’s not what I’m talking about,” Suga grits out, rolling his eyes (depressingly, a normal Jimin translates to a ten year old). “Namjoon said someone was harassing him earlier. I have a lot of work next week, and I don’t want anything happening to him.”

 

Jimin purses his lips. “So, basically, yes, you want me to beat the shit out of someone?”

 

“You know what happens if anyone so much as gets a fucking papercut here,” Suga says, adjusting his position on the seat of the bike. “No; don’t touch anyone. But if you see someone making Namjoon even the slightest fucking bit uncomfortable -- ” he points at Jimin “ -- I want you to find out who the hell is messing around with him.”

 

Jimin nods, seemingly impressed. “I gotcha, I gotcha,” and as he starts up his own bike, he looks back over at Suga. “And hey, are you trying to say something about me having lots of time to do stuff?”

 

“Your schedule is composed of making out and fucking with Jungkook,” Suga snorts, pulling his helmet on and beginning to back out. “That warrants time that you _owe_ ; not that you have.”

 

“Hey, I do other stuff with Kookie,” Jimin says defensively, kicking his kickstand back up after tugging his own helmet on. “And I counted our funds four times last week.”

 

“You still have two bags left,” Suga clips, and he drives off before Jimin can whine about it any further.

 

\--

 

It’s literally impossible for Jackson to sit still.

 

Because today’s Friday, meaning that Jackson’s supposed to be somewhere that is definitely _not_ here, stuck in his leader’s common room, waiting for him to finish his meeting.

 

Mark’s not here, surprisingly, meaning Jackson could book it if he wanted, maybe get his feet warmed up on his bike, but if he was caught by anyone, he’d have his ass capped real quick. And _god_ , if he was caught driving in even the general _direction_ of Namjoon’s Starbucks, he’d probably get more than just temporary probation.

 

He stares at Namjoon’s text, still lying untouched in his inbox, reading it over and over, and again, Mark’s not her -- Jackson could just send back a simple, _sorry, couldn't make it 2nite_ , or even just a, _been busy sorrryyyy_ \-- but it’s not like Mark won’t check his phone when he comes back from wherever he is. Jackson only half blames him, though; Mark’s just doing what he’s been told to do (still, though, Jackson wishes he’d let let him off for maybe just _one_ text).

 

Jackson’s lying on his back, trying to stare holes into the ceiling, when he hears the sound of the elevator ringing from behind the double doors. He kicks a leg over the other, relaxing his shoulders. It’s more than likely Mark; he’s been gone all day, pounding the shit out of the guys who’d been trying to steal shit at one of the clinics.

 

There’s the sound of light footsteps, and then the sound of something being tossed into the trash (Mark’s probably just tossing a box of candy in the trash), before Mark enters his line of sight.

 

“How’d it go?” Jackson yawns, rolling onto his stomach and closing his eyes as Mark strolls up to his side. With Mark around, Jackson feels inclined to rest; Mark’s going to keep eyes off of Jackson’s back.

 

“Good. Had plenty of fun,” Mark clips, and Jackson feels him settle down next to him, his back pressed to Jackson’s side. Jackson’s about to nod off, when he hears the very distinct sound of someone slurping from a straw.

 

“Hey, d’you get me anything?” Jackson mumbles, mouth stuffed against his forearms. Mark must have bought something to drink on his way back, and Jackson’s actually starting to feel thirsty.

 

Mark takes a very loud sip, before he nudges Jackson’s shoulder with something cold. “You can share with me,” he says, and hell yes, Jackson isn’t gonna pass up on an offer like _that_.

 

As Jackson gets his hand around Mark’s drink, he props himself up on his elbows. He blinks his eyes open, taking a sip, and after he gets past the fact that _shit_ that’s fucking sweet, he realizes there’s something stuck to his hand. It’s a...receipt?

 

“You went to Starbucks?” Jackson says, taking another sip as he peels the dampened paper off of his fingers ( _ew_ ; condensation).

 

“Mhm,” Mark nods. Jackson gives a soft elbow to Mark in the arm, because what the fuck, he didn’t get anything for him?

 

“And you didn’t get me my thing,” Jackson narrows his eyes at Mark. Mark shrugs, just slips his fingers into Jackson’s hair, scratching lightly.

 

Maybe Mark’s just tired -- after all, he’s spent his entire day keeping watch on the clinic and putting the heat on a bunch of kids. Jackson’s job is different; his field allows for more flexibility -- but even if Jackson doesn’t go around beating people up for his part time job, he knows pretty well how tiring the aftermath of a skirmish can be. He wouldn’t be too upset with Mark if he had just wanted to buy his drink and run.

 

Jackson takes a sip, biting on the straw (it’s a bad habit, oops), before flipping the receipt over. He reads through the transcript, just cause he’s bored out of his mind, and his eyes zone right in on the words, _Kim Namjoon_ , printed right beside the words _Serviced by._ Jackson goes still at the sight.

 

“Mark,” Jackson starts slowly. “What were you doing at Namjoon’s Starbucks.”

 

Mark stays focused on his phone, and panic is beginning to creep up Jackson’s spine, because it’s definitely plausible that his leader could have sent Mark to give a warning, that he’d have Mark tell Namjoon to back off (which is _ridiculous_ ; something like that wouldn’t stop Jackson at all). “I was thirsty, Jacks. You buy drinks when that happens,” Mark sighs, massaging Jackson’s scalp soothingly.

 

Jackson blinks up at Mark, even though he sees his attention is directed solely toward his phone. “Really?” Jackson says weakly, and he really wants to just leave it at that, but he’s legitimately concerned for Namjoon (what’s he going to think of him now? What _is_ he thinking right now? What’s he doing? Is he alright?). “That’s it?” He tries to relax a little, feeling Mark shift against him.

 

“I said hello to him, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Mark looks Jackson in the eye as he combs his fingers through Jackson’s bangs again, and _no_ , shit, that can’t mean --

 

“You didn’t say anything to him, did you?” Jackson says quietly, and he eyes the door to their leader’s meeting room when he hears movement. He can’t stand the thought of Namjoon being cornered, accused, interrogated, alone. And it’d be all be thanks to _Jackson_ if it happened, too.

 

“I let him know you were alive,” Mark smiles, beginning to work his fingers over the smaller hairs of Jackson’s neck.

 

But that’s not the straight answer that Jackson wants, _needs_ \-- because it doesn’t give him any closure, doesn’t calm his nerves. Mark’s not lying, but he’s leaving something out. _Fuck_ , Jackson thinks. He’ll never forgive himself if he’s brought about anything bad on Namjoon.

 

He looks the receipt up and down again, and he realizes…there’s an order for a peppermint mocha.

 

“Says here you got a mocha,” Jackson points to the receipt, and Mark gives a simple shrug again, gaze unmoving. Jackson bumps his shoulder. “Hey. Where’s my mocha?”

 

Mark thumbs his loose tank top sleeve up his shoulder, but he doesn’t look down at Jackson. “What do you think leader would have said if he saw me carrying around your usual Starbucks? I bet he’d ask questions, dont’cha think?” he reasons, soft and low. “And I like sharing with you. So.”

 

And that’s...sort of odd, that Mark would do that. He’s not usually the kind of person to realize they’ve fucked up right _after_ they fuck up (sometimes, though, Mark doesn’t _ever_ realize he’s fucked up, so this is... _kind of_ good, Jackson guesses).

 

“So what, you drank it all on your way here?” Jackson snorts, taking another drink from his frappuccino, and he can’t help but frown. Cold coffee doesn’t taste as good as hot coffee; not by a _mile_.

 

“Some of it, yeah,” Mark says. “I can assure you it tasted delicious.”

 

Jackson stares at Mark, who continues to run his fingers through Jackson’s hair. Jackson’s eyes fall to Mark’s bare shoulders -- beneath the sheer material of Mark’s tank top, he can see red bleeding through the loose gauze wrapped all the around his chest and back. Without a doubt, they’re wounds received from a skirmish at the clinic.

 

Jackson flips onto his side, propped on one arm, and he runs a hand over the back of Mark’s shirt, trailing down from his spine.

 

“You didn’t get treated yet,” Jackson says, hand hovering over the area where the gauze is most bloody. He’s not afraid of the blood, has seen it too many times before to be fazed at all, but he keeps his hand back for fear of hurting Mark if he touches the bloodied injury.

 

“Nope. I just got back. Wanted to say hi to you first,” Mark breathes, smiling down at his phone He’s playing some weird phone game, with weird sound effects, and Jackson almost laughs; no matter how often it happens, it's always surprising how easy Mark is able to shrug off pain. Although, Jackson’s still not sure whether or not he should be incredibly impressed or downright horrified by his unbelievable tolerance.

 

Jackson frowns, pressing his lips together. “Hey, aren’t you worried it’s gonna get infected? Or bleed through?”

 

Mark pats Jackson’s head, eyes still on his phone. “‘Tis but a flesh wound,” he says back.

 

“Yeah, a flesh wound that could get seriously infected,” Jackson laughs flatly, beginning to rise to his feet, because _goddamnit_ , if Mark isn’t going to take care of himself, Jackson’s going to do it for him. “I’ll be right back. ‘M gonna go get some stuff for your flesh wound.”

 

Mark hums in semi-acknowledgement, still focused on his phone screen. Jackson hands him his drink back, before he strides off to the kitchen -- if Jackson’s memory serves him right, there's some extra first aid kits stashed lying around the place, all thanks to the resupply this morning.

 

He's about to check the cupboard next to the fridge, when he realizes he still has the receipt glued to his hand. Now’s probably a good time to throw that shit away.

 

Jackson strides toward the trash can, humming to his latest piece’s tune, popping the trash can lid open. He shakes his wrist, letting the paper flutter to the bottom, and he’s about to turn toward the cupboards, look for a first aid kit, but stops when he sees...is that a mocha? _Jackson’s_ peppermint mocha? Sitting in the trash?

 

He reaches down toward the floor of the trash, shoving aside plastic wraps and packaging peanuts, and when he's finally wrangled the stupid cup from the trash, he holds it close, trying to get a better look at it (after he’s cleaned off all of its spilled contents, _fuck_ , it got everywhere).

 

It only takes a second, but Jackson pretty much instantly recognizes Namjoon’s handwriting.

 

 _PMM_ is scratched onto the sleeve, with _xtra chc chps, xtra chc syrp,_ and _x3 whip._ It’s definitely Jackson’s order, and it’s also definitely Namjoon’s handwriting. Jackson spends a couple of seconds staring at the cup, because this is...this is the closest he’s been to Namjoon for almost a whole fucking _week_ \-- he feels obligated to take it all in (even if it’s _just_ a mostly empty mocha cup with Namjoon’s handwriting). He turns the cup in his hand, heart beating just a smidge faster, and he pauses, because -- wait, is that an arrow pointing beneath the sleeve of the cup?

 

Hastily, Jackson slides the cardboard sleeve off, skin already rippling with apprehension, tossing it onto the counter, and he almost chokes, because there’s more writing from Namjoon --

 

 _Hope you enjoy!_ it says, with a little smiley face scrawled off to the side, and Jackson would crush the cup with just his right hand if it didn’t have Namjoon’s little message. Because Namjoon must have expected Jackson to have been there, probably had been wondering if Jackson had sent Mark to pick up his drink because he didn’t want to see him. It’s the furthest thing from the truth -- Jackson wants to see Namjoon so _badly_ , to talk and just _crash_ with him -- and to think that Jackson’s possibly _hurt_ him --

 

“Fuck,” Jackson says, voice hoarse.

 

He doesn’t throw the mocha or the cup sleeve away.

 

\--

 

It’s way too early for Namjoon to be awake (at least, for a weekend morning), but he can’t fucking _sleep_ . Hoseok’s already left for a mandatory dance rehearsal, and Namjoon can’t _believe_ his phone clock is reading seven o’clock. He could have slept in for an extra _four hours._

 

Despite being up so early, Namjoon’s got all of his shit done: he’s had breakfast, brushed his teeth, taken a shower, combed his hair back (even if it’ll probably get fucked up when he gets into the water), and has finished off all of his homework.

 

And with so much freetime on his hands, Namjoon decides to give himself the rundown of how things are (ideally) going to play out:

 

The most important thing is that Namjoon does _not_ worry about Jackson, and _definitely_ not about Mark. He’s gotta save it for Sunday, because today’s supposed to be a _break;_ something Namjoon’s been craving for the whole damn week. Honestly, Namjoon’s been thinking about Jackson so much lately, he’s actually lost sleep at night.

 

And that leads to the second most important thing: Namjoon is going to _have fun;_ he’s going to put himself out there in front of a bunch of Suga’s friends (no matter how terribly it’s gonna go), and he’s going to _enjoy_ himself. Not just for his own sake, but for everyone else’s; he’s gonna make it his goal to _not_ make things awkward as shit.

 

It feels weird not having Suga pick him up to take him somewhere, but Suga does end up texting Namjoon directions to the beach instead, along with the address and some landmarks for reference (as well as a _Have fun_ , which may or may not have left Namjoon feeling absolutely giddy).

 

The beach Suga and his friend’s have picked out is really, _really_ , nice; some white sand beach Namjoon’s never set foot on, and it’s not until he passes the _Private Property_ sign that he realizes that -- uh. Suga owns this place, doesn’t he.

 

Namjoon ends up parking by the row of familiar motorcycles all neatly lined up where the street meets the sandline. There’s only three of them; Suga’s is missing, along with somebody else’s, but Namjoon can’t tell who.

 

After he parks up close the the bikes, he grabs the cupcakes Hoseok had given him (more like _forced_ upon him; he’d told Namjoon he wasn’t going to leave the house without him), he looks up and hears the growl of an approaching motorcycle. Namjoon turns his eyes to the sound, but he can’t tell who it is until -- oh. There are like, three bags hanging from the side, and the back compartment’s stuffed with what looks like a bunch of snacks -- that _has_ to be Jin.

 

“Namjoon!” The voice confirms that it’s indeed Jin, who’s calling over to him, hopping off of his bike and pulling his helmet off.

 

“Hey,” Namjoon says back, making his way over, cupcake box in hand.

 

Jin’s popping open the back compartment of his bike, and what the _fuck_ \-- there are four bags of chips and a bunch of sodas all crammed in there (how the hell did he get here without falling over?).

 

“So, you wanna help carry some stuff?” Jin’s just scooping up the bags of chips, and Namjoon realizes he’s talking about the bags.

 

“Uh, yeah,” Namjoon adjusts his hold on the box of cupcakes, looping his arm under the handles.

 

He follows Jin over to where the others (presumably Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung) are running around, three dots in the distance. The whole trek h has to fight to keep his balance, because how long has it been since he’s last set a single foot in sand?

 

“So how are you doing? You sleep okay last night? Have you eaten breakfast today? Lunch? You look a little pale; good thing you’re here, some sunlight’ll be healthy for you,” Jin suddenly launches into an array of questions, and Namjoon almost doesn’t catch any of them he’s talking so fast.

 

“I’m okay,” Namjoon clears his throat, struggling to remember each question. “Uh, I got up really early today -- ” that’s an opinion based on _Namjoon’s_ standards; he’s not a morning person, “ -- I had toast, haven’t had anything other than that, and uh,” Namjoon glances down at his arms. “I’m...tanner than all of you guys, I think.”

 

“Okay, but you look a little pasty on your face -- you must be a good student,” Jin tilts his head in Namjoon’s direction, most likely an attempt to gesture toward Namjoon’s face. When Namjoon frowns, he elaborates. “I meant you study a lot, so you don’t go out too often. You need more sun.”

 

Namjoon splutters; just because he takes, like, two hour naps and goes on study grinds every second he can on an almost daily basis doesn’t mean that --

 

“ _Heeelllllloooooo!!”_ It’s Jimin, yelling at the top of his lungs from the shoreline. He’s stopped scrambling around in the sand and is waving his arms at them like he’s trying to take flight.

 

“You’re supposed to be _helping me!”_ Jin shouts back sternly, and Namjoon thinks he can see Jimin shrugging in the distance.

 

Jin ends up forcing Jimin and Jungkook to set up the rest of the food, while Taehyung lies face flat on one of the beach chairs. Oddly, both Jungkook and Taehyung are wearing sweatshirts? And so is Jin? And Taehyung’s even wearing sweatpants. All of them are well covered -- except for Jimin, who’s sporting just a pair of black swim trunks -- and Namjoon wonders how they aren’t dying from the heat. But maybe it’s just preference; Namjoon shouldn’t pry, nor should he be judgemental.

 

Amazingly, when Namjoon lets everyone know he brought cupcakes from Hoseok, Taehyung almost leaps onto his feet, nearly tumbling over himself as he reaches for the box. Thankfully, Jimin makes sure to yank him back by the arm, preventing him from falling flat on his face.

 

“Um, Hobi had a rehearsal today, said he wishes he could’ve shown up,” Namjoon says, biting into one of the strawberry cupcakes.

 

“I know,” Taehyung nods, peeling off the wrapper for one of the lemon cupcakes. Jimin shoots him a look (one of irritation or sass, Namjoon isn’t sure), and Taehyung shrinks. “I mean, uh, yeah. He texted me,” he mumbles, looking down at his cupcake.

 

“Whipped!” Jimin hollers, reaching a hand out to tug on Jungkook’s sweatshirt, who’s snickering himself. “So fucking _whipped_!!”

 

Taehyung just groans, stuffing his face with food as Jimin and Jungkook take turns poking fun at him. Jin doesn’t say a single word, just tears open each bag of chips and starts chugging sodas. Namjoon just kind of enjoys watching the whole turmoil boil over, responding with one liners whenever Jimin asks for Namjoon’s opinion (he tries not to pick sides, but Taehyungs reactions to all the shit Jimin tosses his way are _priceless_ ).

 

And Namjoon finds that he’s doing it -- he’s _enjoying himself_ . Suga friends are great, the fucking _best_ ; open and talkative, hilarious as hell, and Namjoon doesn’t remember the last time he’s laughed so much around so many people.

 

After a couple of hours have flown by of just eating and making rounds of the game _who the fuck can I embarrass the most_ , Namjoon finds he’s starting to falling asleep on the beach towel he’s lying facedown on. He stares at the mint cupcake in his hand (he hasn’t eaten it; gonna save it for Suga) and before he can stop himself he’s asking, “So Suga’s working right now?”

 

And Namjoon doesn’t expect Jin to start choking on his soda mid sip, nor does he expect Jimin to suddenly kick Taehyung in the face. Jungkook says something like, _Ow, ow, my thighs, Jimin,_ Jimin, and when Namjoon glances up, sees that Jimin is lying on his stomach next to Jungkook, both legs splayed, and that Taehyung is spluttering, trying to get sand out of his mouth.

 

Namjoon looks around at everyone, concerned that they’ve all just had heart attacks (because that’s really what it’s starting to look like). “He, uh, said something about LE?” he says carefully.

 

Jimin exhales noisily, removing his toes from Taehyung’s space and crawling over Jungkook’s chest, pressing his face beneath his jaw. Jin’s still coughing, but he seems to have started recovering.

 

“Yeah, gonna help out with a mixtape,” Jungkook says, after a moment of quiet, fingers massaging at Jimin’s scalp.

 

“Oh,” Namjoon nods. He should have expected that answer, but a part of him just feels curious; he wants to know more about Suga. “If you don’t mind me asking, how’d Suga become a producer?”

 

“He worked his ass off, that’s how,” Jungkook shrugs, and then adds, “He’s always had this affinity for all things music. Guess he just decided that’s what he wanted.”

 

Namjoon hums in response, setting Suga’s mint cupcake back down in the box. Suga does seem like the type of person who’d been destined to succeed in whatever he wanted.

 

“He got all of us into music, actually,” Jin pipes up, still coughing a little. And then he sighs, shoulders slumping as he leans back in his chair. “It’s a shame he doesn’t have all the time in the world to put into music. He really loves it a lot.”

 

And -- hold on -- isn’t Suga a producer? Isn’t music his job? His life? What’s in the way of all of that?

 

“What do you mean?” Namjoon asks, feeling a little dumb, because obviously, he’s missing out on something big. Jin looks quizzically at Namjoon as he sips from his soda. “I mean, what’s stopping him? Isn’t being a producer his job?” Namjoon reiterates hastily.

 

Jimin mumbles something into Jungkook’s chest, and Jungkook murmurs something back quietly in his ear, pressing little kisses to his forehead. Jin shifts, tugging at the drawstrings of his sweatpants, clearing his throat.

 

After a cautious glance at Jin and then Jimin, Namjoon realizes...that it maybe wasn’t polite of him to ask something like that. It’s _Suga’s_ life; Namjoon is going to respect it, no matter what kind of life it is.

 

“I mean, I guess I thought he was a gang member, but, uh,” Namjoon adds, scratching at his jaw. “Guess that’s kind of stupid to think. I -- I can’t imagine living a double life like that twenty-four-seven.”

 

Another silence sweeps across their little encampment, the only sound coming from the shore, where the waves lap at the sand in slow strokes.

 

“No way,” comes Taehyung’s exclamation of disbelief, and he’s gaping at Namjoon, eyes wide. “Seriously?”

Namjoon blinks. “Uh huh,” he swallows, because, okay, it did sound real stupid to his own ears, but not _that_ stupid.

 

“Tae,” Jin says warningly, sounding on edge.

 

Tae shuts his mouth, folding his arms, and Namjoon realizes that he looks more... _amused_ , than shocked.

 

“What? Did I say something?” Namjoon says, worry beginning to bubble in his stomach. Shit -- maybe he offended them. Obviously, all of them -- Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook, and Jin -- are in a gang themselves -- what if it’s disrespectful to just throw around the topic like it’s no big deal? “Um, s-sorry,” Namjoon apologizes quickly, training his eyes downcast, toward his hands. _Stupid_ , he scolds himself silently, _You’re just about the most insensitive asshole ever, probably._

 

“For what?” Taehyung yawns, sitting upright in his chair.

 

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Namjoon says, flipping onto his back, staring up at the beach umbrella.

 

“Wait, what?” Taehyung says, and he sounds genuinely confused.

 

Namjoon briefly looks up at Taehyung, before looking away again. “I guess I didn’t consider the fact that it’s, um -- _rude_ , for me to just talk about that like it’s something bad,” he explains, feeling himself begin to flush with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to sound critical of your guys’ lifestyle. I’m totally cool with it, promise.”

 

Jin and Taehyung look over at each other at the same second, and then the two of them are sighing loudly. And is Jimin...laughing?

 

“Okay, well, get ready to have your mind blown,” Taehyung says, whistling, and he leans forward in his chair, grinning wide. “Because, you know, Suga _is_ a gang member.”

 

And -- _wait_ \-- holy _fuck_ , Namjoon was _right_?

 

“W-what? You mean, I was right?” Namjoon squawks, sitting up with his elbows supporting him in a flash, because _shit, what the fuck_ \-- “Oh my god,” he says. “Shit, I didn’t say anything to offend him, did I?” And really, it’s more a question for Namjoon himself, but he has no filter right now, because _what the actual fuck_.

 

Those words seem to set something off in Taehyung, because now _he’s_ laughing, along with Jimin, and both Jungkook and Jin look like they’re trying to contain laughter themselves. And now Namjoon’s worried that he just sounds like a fucking idiot.

 

“That’s really what you’re thinking?” Jungkook’s looking at Namjoon, smiling a little while he continues to run his fingers through Jimin’s orange hair.

 

Namjoon scrambles to collect himself, flustered. “Well, I mean -- Suga’s a good guy, he works so damn hard, and, y’know, he’s just such an inspiration to me, and I also kind of really like him and would totally date him but he’s way out of my league, but I still want to be friends -- shit.” Shit. _Shit._ _Fuck_. Namjoon just said all of that. _Out loud_. In front of _Suga’s friends_.

 

“Holy shit, get my fucking cell phone, _where the fuck is Suga,_ ” Taehyung is saying, suddenly sifting through the beach bag near his chair, and _what_ , absolutely _not_ , they are _not_ going to tell Suga he has a crush on him, _no fucking way --_

 

“Fuck!! No, _please_ don’t tell him that -- ” Namjoon begs, and he feels paralyzed from the hip down, watching helplessly as Taehyung tugs his phone out of his bag.

 

“Tae, hold on,” Jin says, covering his mouth as he struggles to stop his own laughing. “Wait -- a second, wait a second, is that really how you feel about him?” he says between a few bursts of laughter, turning to Namjoon, and his eyes are smiling.

 

 _Yes_ , Namjoon thinks, without a second of hesitation, _It doesn’t matter that Suga’s in a gang, I would probably get down on my knees and cry if it meant even just the slightest chance of him liking me back_.

 

“W-what do you mean?” Namjoon tries to deflect, looking back and forth from Jin to Taehyung.

 

“We mean, do you like Suga, even if he’s in a gang. Do you like Suga hyung for who he is,” Jungkook says bluntly, patting Jimin’s back, as he fists his hands in Jungkook’s sweater.

 

“Yes,” Namjoon says, without thinking, and _where’s his fucking filter when he needs it --_ “I-I mean, it shouldn’t matter if he’s in a gang or not! He’s -- he’s a good person!” he half-yelps. His face is on _fire_ , and it’s definitely not from sunburn.

 

Suddenly, Jimin raises his head, and says all too loudly, “You fell for our _leader_!”

 

And -- _And --_

 

“ _Oh my god_ , bury me in my grave now,” Namjoon groans, and he yelps when he feels a spray of sand against his arm. Of course it’s Jimin, flicking sand in his direction.

 

“So can I call Suga hyung now?” Taehyung says, and _is that his finger hovering dangerously close to the call button holy fuck_ \--

 

“No, stop, _don’t_ _tell him anything --_ ” Namjoon pleads, and he finally finds the strength to move his legs, but Jimin’s springing off of Jungkook to shove more sand over him.

 

“Stay right there, I gotta bury you in your grave,” Jimin is laughing, dumping sand over Namjoon.

 

Namjoon can only raise his arms to shield his eyes -- he can clearly make out Jimin’s muscles, no _way_ he’s going to mess with _those_ \-- and with nothing else to do, he reaches out in Taehyung’s direction, because he’s _about to hit call_ , when Jimin tackles him right back to the ground. As he hits the sand, Namjoon decides that Jimin could probably overturn a car if he wanted.

 

Namjoon’s about to give up when Jungkook wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist, effortlessly plucking him right off of Namjoon and into the air, and Jimin to yelp in surprise. Namjoon makes a final lunge for Taehyung’s phone, but of course, Taehyung leaps out of his chair, stumbling away. There’s a short silence, and then Namjoon hears the sound of crinkling behind him.

 

It’s Jin, who’s moving the food out of the way with his leg, and all he’s doing is _looking down at his fucking phone --_

 

In less than a second, everything falls to pieces again, sand flying everywhere, Taehyung practically _dancing_ around Namjoon, Jimin chasing after him, and Jungkook chasing after _him_ \--

 

And that’s also the moment that Namjoon hears a very familiar voice from behind Jin.

 

“What the fuck is going on.”

 

Everyone freezes (except for Jin, who was doing _nothing_ , anyways), staring over at Suga, whose minty hair is shining in the sun, and he looks like he’s just walked in on an orgy he did _not_ sign up for.

 

“Hey, Suga,” Jin chirps, popping a chip in his mouth. “How was work?”

 

All Suga does is stare at everyone, from Taehyung, to Jimin, to Jungkook, to Jin, and then, finally, Namjoon. And Namjoon swallows -- oh _god_ , he must look so fucked up, he’s got sand all over his legs and rash guard --

 

And Suga bursts out laughing, _hard_ and...pretty.

 

“You’re all a bunch of idiots,” Suga says, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “I leave for _three hours_ , and _this_ is what happens.”

 

“Rude; _this_ is what fun looks like,” Jimin sticks his tongue out, then grins, side eyeing Namjoon. “And that’s not all you missed out on.”

 

No, _no, please no, stop_ right there, Namjoon kind of wants to scream, but Suga’s still laughing, and suddenly, Namjoon can’t find his voice, because he really could listen to that sound forever --

 

“I don’t even want to know,” Suga shakes his head, calming down, but his smile hasn’t faded.

 

“Hey, you didn’t answer my question,” Jin says, snapping his fingers at Suga.

 

And then Suga sits down next to Jin in the empty beach chair (also _right in front of Namjoon_ ), and Namjoon can do nothing but endure a whole _hour_ of Jimin wiggling his eyebrows and dropping terrible hints about the crush at Suga, while Jungkook hugs his waist, absentmindedly playing with his hair, and Jin’s asking Suga all about his morning.

 

But hey, Namjoon gets to sit near Suga, so that’s nice. The only problem is that he feels like he’s going to explode every time Suga so much as looks at him, or says his name. He manages to pass Suga his mint cupcake, tell him that Hoseok said hi, and al he caught from Suga was his soft, _Thank you_ , and his too-beautiful smile, before he looked away, because he _swears_ he can feel his face starting turning red. Suga tells him the cupcake tastes good, and all Namjoon can stutter out is a _Thanks_ and a very shaky smile.

 

And while everyone’s talking and laughing their asses off, Namjoon finds that he’s relaxed _,_ enjoying himself again. He’s surrounded by a bunch of guys that have the same, shitty sense of humor as him, and he’s sitting next to his crush who will Never Ever Find Out™ how much Namjoon likes him. Namjoon loses count of how many times he glowers in Jimin’s direction in a poor attempt to keep him in line (more like, beg him to please keep his mouth shut, _please_ ). Really, though, it’s all nice, especially in lieu of what happened yesterday.

 

It’s when the sun’s just starting to set that it gets quiet, and Namjoon finally works up the courage to look up at Suga. Suga looks content -- no, he looks happy, pleased; his eyes are smiling, even if his lips aren’t themselves. He’s utterly gorgeous, handsome, and --

 

Namjoon hears Taehyung mutter an _Oh, shit_ , under his breath, and when he looks over, Taehyung’s pulling the waist of his sweater up and touching his stomach. Namjoon frowns, wondering what’s wrong, when he sees it -- there’s crimson staining his fingertips, there’s _blood_ \--

 

“Oh, shit,” Jin mirrors Taehyung’s sentiment, almost flying out of his chair in Taehyung’s direction.

 

“What? What’s wrong?” Namjoon says stupidly, but Taehyung’s just fucking _bleeding_ out of his stomach, and Namjoon’s pretty sure that nobody brought any sharp objects with them.

 

Jin’s grabbed something out of the beach bag, a white box that must be a first aid kit, and he’s kneeling down next to Taehyung.

 

“Uh, it’s nothing, I just, _fuck_ \-- ” Taehyung inhales sharp when Jin applies a gauze pad to his stomach. “My stitches just kind of, um, split.”

 

“Stitches?” Namjoon flinches when Taehyung hisses loudly, and he looks away, unable to stand seeing him in pain.

 

“Ah, do you want me to…?” Jimin has his phone out, he’s waiting, eyes are on Suga, and Namjoon realizes that they’re looking to him for orders, because -- right; Suga’s their _leader_.

 

“No,” Suga says sharply. “I’m calling in a favor; we haven’t used any this month.” And he’s pulling his own phone out of his pants pocket, dialing a number. As his phone drones on, waiting for the other end to pick up, Suga sends a sort of authoritative look in Jungkook and Jimin’s direction, and he must get something across with just that look alone, because the two of them are on their feet in an instant.

 

“Hey, Namjoon, can you help clean up?” Jimin smacks his lips, already reaching for the food. Jungkook has a hand around Jimin’s waist, helping pick up the trash, and Namjoon can’t help but notice the hint of distress in Jungkook’s eyes.

 

Namjoon nods. He follows as best as he can, but he can’t help but watch Suga as he walks off toward the shoreline, phone held to his ear. He’s talking so quietly, Namjoon almost thinks he isn’t actually speaking at all, but Namjoon can see his lips in motion, even from this distance.

 

As Namjoon’s folding up one of the beach blankets, he can hear Taehyung trying to make small talk with Jin, voice cracking every now and then into a strained gasp. And then he remembers -- Hoseok. Holy _shit_ , does Hoseok know about this? God, he’d be worried out of his _mind_ \--

 

It suddenly makes sense -- maybe _this_ is what Hoseok meant when he said he didn’t want to get Namjoon tangled up in Taehyung’s -- no, just _gang_ business in general.

 

And then Namjoon almost wants to laugh, because _oh_ , if only Hobi could see just how fucking deep Namjoon was in now.

 

When everything’s folded and bundled up, away in Jungkook, Jimin, and Jin’s bikes, everyone standing in the parking lot, there’s an ambulance pulling into view. Namjoon watches as Jin supports Taehyung by the shoulder, helping him across the sand and climb onto the bed the paramedics pull out. Jin climbs in himself, and he says something to Jimin before he closes the doors behind him.

 

Namjoon’s just hanging out by the hood of his car, watching as Jimin walks over to Jungkook and shares something quiet with him. Jungkook nods, and in an instant, their hands are clasped together, fingers intertwined tight. And then Suga’s up close to the two of them, saying something else, and when Jimin and Jungkook both nod, he walks toward the ambulance.

 

Namjoon jogs over to the couple as they stand at the sides of their bikes; he has to know if Taehyung’s alright.

 

“Is Taehyung going to be okay?” Namjoon breathes, watching the flashing lights of the ambulance.

 

Jungkook glances over his shoulder. “Tae’ll be fine. He’s definitely not fatally wounded, we just don’t want him losing blood,” he says, airy.

 

“And infection is bad,” Jimin says informatively, at Jungkook’s right. “But yeah, trust us, Tae’s definitely okay.”

 

Namjoon’s about to ask, _What the hell am I going to tell Hoseok_ , because he’s Taehyung’s _boyfriend_ , and these kinds of things seem pretty important to know, but he doesn’t get the chance, because Suga’s walking toward Namjoon. Namjoon blinks up at him, swallowing when he realizes that he’s looking Namjoon square in the eye.

 

“Namjoon,” Suga says, voice a little tight, almost like he’s worried. “I need you to go home. I can explain later, I promise, but I need you to be safe. Can you text me when you get home?”

 

Namjoon blinks. “Y -- yeah, I can do that,” he breathes, and a part of him just wants to kind of hold Suga’s hand and try to calm him down, tell him it’s okay -- which is kind of funny, because _Namjoon_ is the one who should be panicking right now.

 

Suga clenches both of his fists, curling and uncurling his fingers, and Namjoon realizes he’s... _frustrated_. “I...I’ll explain everything. I’m…” he looks at the ground, and then directly into Namjoon’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, quietly.

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Namjoon finds himself saying, because what is there for Suga to be sorry about? “I’ll text you,” he promises, and his fingers are itching to reach out and hold onto Suga’s hand, feel all of his callouses and dry patches of skin.

 

Suga’s eyes flicker with some emotion Namjoon thinks he’s seen before, but it vanishes with the flash of the ambulance’s lights. He nods, and then makes a vague gesture in Jimin and Jungkook’s direction. “Jimin and Jungkook are going to escort you home,” he says quietly, and then he’s moving past Namjoon, toward his bike. Before he pulls his helmet on, he glances over at Namjoon and murmurs, “Thank you, Namjoon. Goodnight,” and then he’s backing out and away, beside the ambulance.

 

Namjoon watches him leave, waits until the lights have all disappeared, and then Jungkook revs his engine up.

 

“Ready to go, Namjoon?” Jungkook is calling out, beginning to back his bike out.

 

Namjoon nods, climbing into his car. He doesn’t even stop to think how Taehyung even _got_ those stitches until he’s home, behind the comfort of a closed door.

 

\--

 

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he stays awake, but it’s definitely for longer than an hour. Because, really, it’s a little difficult to process everything he’s learned today.

 

He ends up texting Suga that he made it home a hundred percent fine, all in one piece, the second that he steps into his apartment complex, and he receives a couple of texts back entailing how grateful Suga is for Namjoon’s understanding, his patience. After reading the last, _Thank you,_ from Suga, Namjoon debates telling Hobi about Taehyung, but decides to let his roommate sleep when he finds him sprawled over the couch, snoring.

 

When Namjoon’s cheek hits the pillows, he doesn’t even try to sleep; his mind’s racing a mile a minute.

 

So Taehyung had stitches -- and Namjoon knows that for every effect, there has to be a cause: so why did Taehyung have stitches in the first place? Namjoon wonders if it’s because he simply cut himself, maybe dropped a knife while cooking, but the possibility of the whole thing being gang-related outweighs that theory. And then Namjoon remembers that, yeah, didn’t Jimin say something about being _Needed at the site_ (wherever that is) on Friday night? Maybe it had something to do with Taehyung.

 

And there’s Jungkook and Jin, who were also absent themselves Friday night, and although Namjoon’s never seen Jin at the Starbucks, it did seem sort of sketchy that Jimin wasn’t with Jungkook -- kind of like the night before, at dinner, when Jimin had claimed Jungkook was out buying dessert. Namjoon remembers hearing Jungkook over Jimin’s phone (no one says Jimin’s name like how Jungkook does, with so much endearment and affection) and the yelling, and then the weird staring, and the throat clearing on Suga’s end.

 

Oh -- and then, today, Jimin and Namjoon were the only ones who actually wore beach appropriate clothes. He recalls that Jimin was wearing swim trunks and running around shirtless, but Jungkook and Jin were both covered up in long sleeved sweatshirts. Taehyung had been covered, too, except he was wearing _sweatpants_ along with a sweatshirt. And then Namjoon realizes -- they must have been trying to cover up their wounds.

 

 _Why would they do that_? Namjoon wonders silently, rolling over his mattress until he’s lying on his side, staring at his desk from across the room. Well, duh, they probably thought Namjoon would be freaked out by the sight of cuts or bruises -- they must have covered it all out of consideration.

 

Maybe it was on Friday night that they all got into whatever fight landed them the need to hide beneath sweatshirts. Jin and Jungkook were gone on Friday night, making it even more plausible that they could have been with Taehyung during whatever went down. Jimin was the only one that seemed completely okay; he was his usual chipper, upbeat self, so it would make sense that he wasn’t hurt at all (he was also showing a lot of skin today, and Namjoon doesn’t remember catching any sort of injury on him).

 

And Suga --

 

Namjoon remembers how happy Suga had seemed at the beach. Namjoon remembers how he’d unintentionally confessed in front of Suga’s friends, and --

 

 _No, no_ , Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut, _That’s not what’s important right now_.

 

He remembers his outburst of laughter, his smile, how he spoke, voice velvety and soft -- and that Suga is his friends’ _leader_ . Jimin and Jungkook had followed him like he was a commander, like his word was law. _God_ , he must carry so much responsibility on his shoulders, the weight of the _world_ \-- for god’s sake, he’s a world famous _producer_ . He must have so many things to think about and take care of, and Namjoon feels _terrible_ \-- he can scarcely imagine what kind of life Suga lives.

 

Whatever kind of life it is, though, Namjoon is going to support him as best he can. Because Suga’s a _good person_ , and god, he deserves so much more than just Namjoon’s support.

 

Namjoon finally finds sleep, and he finds he’s unable to stop thinking about Suga -- yeah, he’d seemed unharmed at the beach, but Namjoon can’t stop wondering if he’s really, _really_ okay.

 

\--

 

Sunday morning is as less of a wreck than Namjoon had expected it to be.

 

Namjoon slept pretty much like a rock for the entirety of the night, and when he wakes up, he’s surprised to find that it doesn’t feel like he’s being ripped out of bed when he swings his feet over the side of his bed.

 

There’s no Hoseok making breakfast this Sunday morning, and at least that means Namjoon can have some time to think of how he’s gonna tell him, _Hey, your boyfriend’s in the hospital because his stitches tore and he’s doing okay so don’t worry about it_. Except, one of the problems with that version of the story, though, is that Namjoon’s not actually sure if Taehyung’s okay; at least, not until Suga texts him, a few minutes into breakfast, that Taehyung’s doing fine.

 

And it turns into Suga texting him all day, keeping him updated on Taehyung’s status every couple of minutes, and entertaining Namjoon’s casual inquiry about music. Namjoon asks those questions because Suga seems -- well, seemed, stressed, and Namjoon wants to help in any way he can. Some of their conversation include things similar to:

 

 _From ;_ **_♫_ ** _MY LIFE_ ♬ _; 10:11 a.m._

_LE isn’t too intolerable._

 

 _From ;_ **_♫_ ** _MY LIFE_ ♬ _; 10:11 a.m._

_You listen to her music?_

 

 _To ;_ **_♫_ ** _MY LIFE_ ♬ _; 10:11 a.m._

_heard her a couple of times but not really_

 

 _To ;_ **_♫_ ** _MY LIFE_ ♬ _; 10:12 a.m._

_and is that a yes shes good or a no shes bad_

 

 _From ;_ **_♫_ ** _MY LIFE_ ♬ _; 10:12 a.m._

_Needs improvement._

 

_To ; MY LIFE ; 10:12 a.m._

_lol ok whatever u say_

 

And even if Suga cuts out for a couple of minutes every now and then, Namjoon pretty much talks to him all day. Whenever Namjoon spaces out, it’s because he’s imaging Suga’s face, molding to match the (somewhat) monotonous feel of every text. A twitch of his lips, an eye roll, a quirk of the brows; Namoon sees it all so clearly.

 

Hobi comes back in the early afternoon, sporting a heart-wrenching smile, chirping about how _Fucking wild brunch was, like goddamn_. Namjoon can barely smile himself; he knows Hoseok isn’t going to be smiling after Namjoon breaks the news to him.

 

Namjoon’s not sure whether he should be surprised or not, but either way, Hobi takes the news...well enough.

 

Hoseok’s quick to ask how Taehyung is, saying he was getting suspicious when he’d disappeared in the midst of a text thread. He gets serious, too, watching Namjoon carefully and waiting until he’s finished each sentence before he asks anything. Above all, though, it’s clear, with how dangerously close Hobi is to the edge of his seat, that Hoseok is very much concerned for Taehyung.

 

“‘S this what you meant? When you said you didn’t want to involve me?” Namjoon says quietly, once he’s told Hobi everything.

 

Hoseok stares down at his feet, off to the side, then nods. “Yeah,” he sighs, and offers a tiny smile. “Not very fun, huh?”

 

Namjoon spends his Sunday indoors, texting Suga, and eventually gives into temptation when Suga says he’ll _Be back in a second_ , and reaches for his notebook.

 

He hasn’t touched a single page with pencil or pen as of late; too busy thinking about Jackson, and now Suga. He’s worried for the both of them in different ways, and it’s gone so far as to keep him from writing at all.

 

It takes a couple of minutes, but after Namjoon shuts his eyes and thinks hard, about everything that’s happened, he finally gets his pencil to move. It starts with the feeling of longing -- missing someone’s touch, being reminded of them by the little things, and he writes everything down in the form of messy notes, all crammed together. Undoubtedly, everything’s overwhelmingly romantic, but Namjoon’s got a flow going goddammit, and he’s going to finish it off.

 

For a while, Namjoon doesn’t even realize that he doesn’t really have a direction with any of his notes -- so he decides to use his own job as his metaphorical muse. And it works -- well enough so that Namjoon actually finishes writing the lyrics in under two hours (of course, edits will come later, but _damn_ he finished this piece fast).  

 

When he’s finished with the lyrics, he scratches the title _Coffee_ in the top margin. As his pen hangs on the last ‘e’, Namjoon stares down his own pink scrawl, lyrics and title included. He reads it over and over in his head, and it’s on his fourth round that he realizes -- his muse for the song was _Jackson_ ; not his stupid _job_ (it has to be Jackson; with all the comparisons to coffees -- it’s Jackson who’s capable of pulling that kind of humor out of Namjoon). Namjoon _misses_ Jackson, he wants to talk to him and see him and just _be_ with him.

 

Which is...a new feeling. Namjoon won’t call it weird, because it’s not -- it’s just _different_ ; new. Namjoon hasn’t felt this empty thinking about someone -- _ever_. And the feeling won’t go away, no matter how much Namjoon thinks about Jackson, trying to recall every pun and bit of shade thrown.

 

Namjoon closes his notebook softly, resting his hand over the cover for a few moments. And then, with a yawn, he tosses his notebook to some far corner of his desk and tries to sleep.

 

\--

 

On Monday morning, Suga texts Namjoon, saying he won’t be available to write with Namjoon for the week (he says the phrases _I’m sorry_ and _I’ll explain soon_ the most out of all of his messages). And yeah, Namjoon’s kind of sad he won’t be able to hang with Suga, but if he’s busy because of work or...gang stuff, then Namjoon shouldn’t distract him anymore.

 

Music class is more a chore than it normally is, but at least his teacher accepts his collaborative work with Suga with the same praise he had with his first song, Blanket Kick. This song, _No More Dream_ , was much more heavily influenced by Suga’s word and hand -- it’s definitely not romantic, and it’s among one of the angrier pieces Namjoon’s written before.

 

Namjoon actually gets into a nice swing of things halfway through music class. Coffee is tabbed away; Namjoon’s put a mental lock over it, because if he so much as glosses over, it he’s going to crumble up in the middle of class, thinking about (read: missing) Jackson.

 

Instead, Namjoon directs all of his energy into the song Suga had suggested through text that he flesh out more; it’s one of the nameless drafts he had worked on with Suga. And it works -- he keeps his mind on Suga for the duration of the whole class period, and even if he remembers that Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jin also are more than capable of letting Suga know Namjoon likes him, he finds comfort looking at the roughed up lyrics and notes, all in mint-colored ink from Suga’s pen.

 

And when class is out, he’s getting ready to call Hoseok and let him know that he’s open for lunch, when he hears --

 

No. That can’t be --

 

Namjoon doesn’t have time to look around, because the sound of the bike’s pulling up _right next to him_ , stopping right at his side, and the first thing Namjoon thinks when he sees platinum blonde hair is _woah_ , because has it really been just _one week_ since he’s last seen Jackson?

 

“Hello, stranger,” Jackson licks his lips, playing with his piercing, and Namjoon almost can’t believe his eyes. Jackson doesn’t wait for a response, just says, “Wanna go out for lunch with me?” and he’s jerking his thumb toward the back of his seat, evidently a gesture for Namjoon to mount his bike.

 

“I -- ” Namjoon starts, because he wants to ask a thousand different questions and tell Jackson a thousand different things, but Jackson cuts him off.

 

“Please,” Jackson says, sounding tense, and Namjoon thinks he might know why when he hears the sound of another motorcycle nearing close.

 

Namjoon hops onto the bike as quickly as he can, and _woah_ \-- okay, Jackson’s bike is _nothing_ like Suga’s. But Namjoon doesn’t have time to really adjust to the difference, because Jackson’s already starting to speed right down the street.

 

“W-woah, hey, hold on,” Namjoon stutters, but all _he_ can really do is hold on to Jackson, and he grapples with the fabric of Jackson’s white wifebeater.

 

On top of the seat change, Jackson just _feels_ different from Suga -- broad shoulders, back rippling with muscle in different places, and Namjoon almost feels like he has to slot himself just right against Jackson’s back so he doesn’t fall off. Jackson doesn’t say anything, just drives straight forward, and Namjoon realizes very quickly that Jackson and Suga also _drive_ very differently.

 

Jackson just barely adheres to the speed limit (maybe not at all, with how quickly he rounds those corners), and when he banks rights, he slows down just the barest fraction before revving right back up to normal speed. Namjoon’s pretty sure his life flashed before his eyes a total of four times in the first five minutes of the drive. He kind of wants to ask where Jackson’s been, and where the hell he’s taking him, but everytime he tries to speak up, Jackson makes a sharp turn, and Namjoon loses his voice to the wind.

 

And then they’re stopping (finally; Namjoon thought Jackson was going to ram into a tree at one point) right up in front of some restaurant Namjoon’s never been to (Twice Ramen?). Namjoon doesn’t have time to get a proper look at the whole place, because Jackson’s already jumping off of his bike, the heels of his timberlands hitting the ground with a loud thump of leather to asphalt.

 

“Ready?” Jackson swivels on heel, whistling a little, and no, _slow down_ , Namjoon can only move so fast.

 

“Uh, yeah, hold on,” Namjoon says, checking his laptop bag to make sure he hasn’t lost anything. When he looks up, Jackson’s already run off to the front door, and he’s swinging the door wide open, smiling over in Namjoon’s direction.

 

“You ever eaten here?” Jackson asks, leaning back against the door, and he needs to stop looking so _good_ in those fucking jeans, which are way too tight around his thighs, and with that crooked grin that could light up the sky, because Namjoon won't be able to ask Jackson where the fuck he's been, if he can’t -- fucking -- _focus_ , goddamnit.

 

“Don’t think so,” Namjoon shakes his head, keeping his eyes level (actually slightly below, because he's taller than Jackson) with Jackson's, before he looks around the shop. It kind of looks family run, with wood-shop style architecture and there’s a recurring theme of...plants?

 

Namjoon’s just getting a good look at the menu, when Jackson slides past him, leaning against the edge of the counter. He waves at one of the waitresses as she’s passing by with an empty tray.

 

“Hey, Jackson,” the waitress says, sliding the tray beneath the counter. She casts a quick glance at Namjoon, before she looks back to Jackson. “You want me to grab Momo?”

 

“Yes, please, that’d be great,” Jackson says grinning. “How’s school, Dahyun?”

 

“All A’s. Thanks for your concern, pops,” Dahyun says over her shoulder, before she disappears around the corner (Namjoon’s just going to assume she doesn’t actually mean that Jackson’s her...dad…).

 

And then they’re left alone again, and Namjoon kind of helplessly stares at Jackson until he looks back, and Namjoon freezes up. This would be the perfect time to ask him if he’s okay, ask him why he’s doing this, except Namjoon literally cannot think of anything to say --

 

“Hey, old man,” there’s a girl with blonde hair done up in a ponytail, and Namjoon realizes she’s talking to Jackson. “Get off of my counter.”

 

Jackson springs off of the counter, spinning with blinding speed to face the girl behind the counter. She doesn’t even flinch; just looks on with a displeased stare.

 

“Hey, old lady,” Jackson parrots. “You know what I want?”

 

The girl -- Namjoon is going to assume she’s Momo -- rolls her eyes. “I saw you yesterday. And the day before that. And before that one. I’ve seen you all last week. You come here every month.”

 

“I’m just testing your memory,” Jackson gives a nonchalant exhale, and then he grins. “Cause, y’know, that kind of thing starts going when you’re old.”

 

“I’m eighteen,” Momo deadpans (and if looks could kill, _holy shit_ ).

 

“With that look, you’re going to be _eighty_ by tomorrow,” Jackson snipes, and Namjoon starting to get the notion that Momo and Jackson know each other pretty well.

 

“Don’t make me charge you extra for being a public nuisance,” Momo snorts. “Now give me your money.”

 

Jackson holds up a finger, and then turns to Namjoon. “Uh, hold up, Momo. This is Namjoon -- ” he gestures toward Namjoon, like he’s proudly displaying some kind of trophy.

 

When Momo follows Jackson’s motion, she meets his gaze and Namjoon gives a weak wave. She looks at him straight on for a second, before she opens her mouth and says, “I’m so sorry.”

 

Namjoon blinks, and then laughs, because it’s exactly like what Namjoon had said to Jaebum, and there’s no way she’s not referring to how Jackson talks his mouth off twenty-four-seven.

 

Apparently (okay, no, more like inevitably), this touches a nerve in Jackson, and he whips back to face Momo with a scowl. “Hey, what are you trying to say? I’m a great person to hang around.”

 

“Get your lying bitchass out of my face,” Momo says bitterly, and she almost reminds Namjoon of Jinyoung (at least, with how she treats Jackson). And then she turns her attention to Namjoon. “What’d you like?”

 

“Um -- ” Namjoon flinches (because holy hell that glare is _deadly_ ) and looks the menu up and down. There’re a bunch of noodle dishes (duh) and a variety of sushi, and Namjoon really doesn’t know what he wants because what the heck, he’s barely had any time to catch his breath --

 

“I’m paying, by the way, so you can get whatever you want,” Jackson pipes up, waving his wallet in the air.

 

Namjoon eyes the dark material of Jackson’s wallet, and after a second of thought, says, “Well, in that case, can I have two of everything?”

 

Momo doesn’t even wait for Jackson’s input, just says, “Sure,” and starts tapping the screen of the register.

 

“Uh, wait a second, I was just kidding -- ” Namjoon starts, because does Jackson really have enough money for that? Namjoon remembers him buying lunch before, but that was just _two meals;_ not two _menus_ stacked up on each other.

 

Of course, _of fucking course,_ Jackson doesn’t even seem bothered by the fact he’s blowing _a lot of money_ and shrugs. “Two drinks, please,” he says to Momo, handing her his credit card.

 

After Momo swipes his card, takes his signature, she hands Jackson his card, a number card, two cups, and tells him, “I expect you to eat everything. Including the spicy dishes,” and then returns to the back of the restaurant.

 

Without another word, Jackson hands Namjoon his cup and bounds toward the drink fountain. Namjoon follows, and as he’s filling his cup with ice, he eyes Jackson, who seems to be having the time of his life (Namjoon can see it in his eyes).

 

And Namjoon can only silently fill up his cup (with iced tea), because...is this where he’s supposed to start questioning Jackson? Or where he’s supposed to tell him he shouldn’t have bought so much food…?

 

As Namjoon surveys Jackson’s disposition (not _just_ his arms), he realizes how... _easy_ it is to slip back into what they had just a week ago. Yeah, there are questions that need answering, but all the frustration and the guilt are starting to meld with the enjoyment and comfort he’s having just being around Jackson. Jackson, who’s humming to himself something that sounds vaguely familiar, and is still the same person that gave Namjoon a smiling sickness for three weeks.

 

Namjoon takes a seat across from Jackson where he’s sitting, chest pressed into the back of his chair. “Y’know, I really was joking about the whole, um, buying everything twice thing,” Namjoon blurts out, hanging his laptop bag on his chair.

 

Jackson slurps loudly from his drink. “Please, this place is called ‘Twice’ for a reason,” he scoffs, but then he turns serious, biting into his lower lip. “And, ah, think of it as me making it up to you.”

 

Namjoon swallows. He’s gone over in his head a million times all of the questions he’s wanted to ask Jackson, about his health, why he left him at the game, if he’s seen his text, if he liked his coffee -- except now, hearing Jackson say that like _that_ , Namjoon is having trouble picking just even one question.

 

“Here,” comes Momo’s voice, and she’s dropping off a bunch of assorted sushi dishes. As she sets down the last plate, she gives Jackson a long, expectant stare, like she’s waiting for some sort of answer out of him. “Did you say it yet?” she asks, and eyebrow quirked questioningly.

 

“Oh my god, let me ride at my own pace,” Jackson bemoans, picking at one of the sushi rolls and stuffing his face. He coughs when Momo punches him in the arm, _hard_ . “Okay, _okay_ , Jesus, I’m _going_ , don’t beat me anymore.”

 

“You better be,” Momo says, before she walks away again, and Namjoon’s not quite sure what she was talking about.

 

But apparently, Jackson knows full well what the implications of her question meant, because he’s gone a little quiet, straightening in his seat.

 

“So,” Jackson begins, and Namjoon’s amazed he can understand anything he’s saying with his mouth stuffed full with food. “I’ve been a complete asshole to you. For a week.”

 

And Namjoon wasn’t really expecting him to say that, because no, Jackson’s _not_ an asshole. And Namjoon never pegged Jackson’s disappearance as a pure dick move, and hearing Jackson say it like it was kind of makes Namjoon want to disagree. But he waits for Jackson to finish.

 

“I know I left you hanging at the game on Saturday. And I know I didn’t answer your text. And I know I didn’t come in on Friday, either,” Jackson says honestly. He takes a deep breath, pulling his lips into a thin line, and there are those eyes Namjoon remembers as clear as day (and maybe he sort of missed them. Maybe). “And I’m sorry. But if you want to, I can tell you why.”

 

And Namjoon can’t say no.

 

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathes. “It’s okay. Go ahead.”

 

Jackson’s eyes light up, like he’s given him the green-light to go on a month-long vacation. He collects himself again, but the look of joy isn’t gone at all.

 

“I’m in a gang,” Jackson says, without much hesitation. “I mean, I guess I shoulda told you sooner, but I get distracted easily.”

 

Namjoon blinks at Jackson, quiet for a couple of seconds. Because, right, Jackson doesn’t know that Jinyoung told him like, right after they met at Starbucks.

 

“Um, I kinda already know that,” Namjoon admits, and after a second of thought, reaches for some sushi himself (he’s getting hungry watching Jackson eat, okay?).

 

“I know that y -- Wait, what?” Jackson seems to have been ready to have launched into a spiel regarding gangs, but he halts mid-sentence, frowning in confusion. “How? You a psychic, or something?”

 

“No,” Namjoon shrugs, and damn that California roll is good, “Jinyoung told me a while ago.”

 

At this revelation, Jackson rolls his eyes, groaning a long winded _uuughh._ “Park fucking _Junior_ , I _swear to god_ . I was going to tell you, I swear! Just -- ugh _. Ugh_ !! I’m going to kick Jinyoung’s ass the next time I see him. That was _my_ news to share!”

 

And, wait -- maybe Jackson’s worried Namjoon will think less of him, or maybe -- no. It actually seems like Jackson was...looking forward to telling him. Which is kind of...weird. But hey. Namjoon honestly doesn’t care -- being a gang member doesn’t always turn you into some catty clique, or a dirty street dog. Just look at Suga -- wait. Fuck.

 

“Okay, so, I’m glad we’re both on the same page about that, but uh, what does this have to do with...last week?” Namjoon says, smiling a little. “You know, I don’t really care -- I mean, it’s fine that you’re in a gang. Uh. It’s cool.”

 

Jackson smooths out his bangs, taking a sip from his drink, and then says coolly. “Like I said, I get distracted easily.” and...what? Jackson takes note of Namjoon’s confusion. “Like, I got so into hanging out with you, I was late for three meetings.”

 

Namjoon splutters; is Jackson saying that Namjoon’s just managed to fuck with gang business? Oh shit, oh _shit --_

 

“Holy fuck -- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fuck with your, um, business. Or schedule, or whatever. Shit,” Namjoon blurts out.

 

Jackson smiles amusedly, wiping at the corner of his mouth with his wrist. “Nah, no worries. I like hanging out with you; meetings can go suck a dick. Well. Some of them,” he says, reaching for another roll. “And anyways, the only punishment I got slammed with was probation.”

 

“ _Probation_!?” Namjoon gawks, because no _way --_  Namjoon got Jackson in _that much trouble_.

 

“I know, right?” Jackson nods, but doesn’t seem to quite understand the reason for Namjoon’s shock. “I couldn’t talk to you, or see you, so I guess it was kind of like, one of the worst punishments.”

 

And hold on a second -- does this mean Namjoon’s on someone’s bad list? Or watch list? Is probation really the only thing Jackson got slammed with?

 

“You’re not in trouble for being here right now. With me. Are you?” Namjoon asks, swallowing down another sushi roll.

 

Jackson grins wide, triumphant. “Nope. Probation’s done, thank fucking god.”

 

“Dude,” Namjoon breathes, because it’s fantastic that Jackson’s here, that he’s _happy_ , but he’s not seeing how fucking _worried_ Namjoon is. “Please tell me that’s all that happened to you.”

 

Jackson sends Namjoon an estranged look, but then a wave of understanding washes over his eyes. “Promise,” he says warmly, and _fuck_ Namjoon shouldn’t stare, but he looks so fucking happy. And then Jackson sits upright in his chair again. “So how hungry are you? Because I am _starved_.”

 

Namjoon blinks, and before he can think, he’s replying with, “I dunno if I’m hungry enough to eat two whole menus’ worth of food, but…”

 

And Jackson’s laughing. “Well, get ready -- you’re going to see the god of eating in just a second.”

 

Namjoon laughs too, almost choking on a bite of sushi, and he remembers all the dinner he ate, the stuff Jin had made, and he remembers sitting at Suga’s table and seeing Suga smile and hearing Suga laugh and -- holy _fucking shit;_ Namjoon’s brain needs to chill.

 

“Woah, you okay?” Jackson blinks, slowly munching on a piece of gyoza, and Namjoon realizes that yes, he is indeed choking on his rice.

 

“Yes,” Namjoon barely manages to say, covering his mouth (he kind of feels like dying, and not just because he’s inhaling rice).

 

And with that, everything just...fits into place. Like they’ve spent no time apart, haven’t missed anything going on in one another’s lives. Jackson has plenty to share regarding the health of his basketball coach (apparently, he came down with pneumonia), and after Momo comes back with the second round of ramen, Jackson informs him that Momo practices dance at their campus. And then Jackson fires up a conversation about his music teacher, positively irked that his teacher had the _nerve_ to tell Jackson his style was ‘inconsistent.’

 

“I swear; sometimes he acts like I don’t know how to write anything. I hate life,” Jackson rolls his eyes, resting his chopsticks on one of the napkins strewn across the table.

 

Namjoon would say he relates, but he can’t really, so.

 

“You guys working on anything in class right now?” Namjoon asks, before he takes a sip from the broth of one of the ramen bowls (his third serving; Jackson’s on his...sixth?).

 

“Yeah. Working on my choreography for one of my songs, cause I’m just fuckin’ _done_ reworking stupid lyrics,” Jackson hums, and then swallows down some of his drink. “What about you?”

 

Namjoon crosses one leg over the other, shifting in his seat. “Working on an album for class. I think it’s turning out pretty great,” he says.

 

“Sweet. You need any help writing anything?” Jackson says, and his interest seems doubly piqued as he taps his toe against the floor.

 

“I got two songs done, actually. Officially, anyways,” Namjoon replies proudly, because hey, writer’s block is for _nerds_ (better not tell Hoseok that; _ever_ ). But also, it really was Suga that dug him out of his own grave, so. So. “I had help from someone else; I think they saved my life. Would have been dead last Monday if it hadn’t been for him.”

 

Jackson squints at Namjoon, like he’s missed a part of his sentence, but he says, “You got help?”

 

Namjoon swallows, because, uh, yeah, he got help from his crush, who also just so happens to be a world famous producer. _Fuck._

 

“From a friend, yep,” Namjoon says, eyeing Jackson as he leans dangerously far forward in his chair.

 

Jackson picks up his chopsticks and points them in Namjoon’s direction. “Well, hey, I’m your friend, so does that mean I can help you with your stuff?” he says, grinning wide.

 

Namjoon blinks. “Sure,” he says automatically, without thinking. Suga probably wouldn’t mind if he had someone else pitch in on his album. And plus, Namjoon’s actually kind of interested in what Jackson's style is like. It's not wrong to be genuinely curious (in select circumstances, anyways).

 

“Awesome!” Jackson says, practically erupting with elation. Like, Namjoon thinks he can actually see stars in his eyes; the same ones in his smile --

 

Namjoon looks down at his noodles, sifting through the meat with his chopsticks. _Stop it_ , Namjoon tells himself, _you’re starting to sink to_ that _level -- the gross and disgusting one_.

 

“So, I’m free tomorrow. You got any plans then? ‘Cause that’d be the prime time to crash,” Jackson says, plucking at the seaweed on one of the plates.

 

Namjoon blinks. “Um, I’m off work tomorrow, just have two classes that day,” he says. He wonders where they’ll write, because hey, it’d be great if they hung out in Namjoon and Hoseok’s flat, and it’s probably be great for one ball of sunshine to meet the other (read: Hoseok and Jackson), but they’d probably attack each other with about a million questions, and Namjoon knows that they won’t get any writing done at all.

 

“Alright, sounds good to me. Wanna go out for lunch again, then? I can pick you up,” Jackson muses, and if Namjoon thought longer on it, it kind of sounds like...a date.

 

“Fine with me. As long as I’m paying, that is,” Namjoon shrugs, peering down at the stacks of dishes they’ve piled high. God, Jackson better not expect Namjoon to have the ability to buy this much stuff for their lunch tomorrow.

 

At this, Jackson scowls. “Huh? But I like paying for you,” he whines, as if it’s a travesty that Namjoon is stopping him from paying.

 

“You rich people and your damn money,” Namjoon rolls his eyes, and then he realizes he’s referring to both Suga and Jackson in that statement. Uh.

 

“Hey, my money is being put to good use, okay? Food is a very important thing for the human body,” Jackson says defensively, slurping loudly from his bowl to emphasize his point.

 

“Of course it is,” Namjoon hums, but yeah, the food actually does taste really good, so he’s not really gonna complain. Not right now, anyways.

 

\--

 

Namjoon ends up telling (more like yelling at) Jackson what his address is as Jackson drives him home, and he’s pretty sure he almost dies by the time he gives him the street name, because holy _shit_ Jackson drives fucking fast.

 

But about halfway through the ride, by some miracle, Namjoon’s able to comfortably situate himself on the back of the seat, finding that if he holds onto Jackson’s waist higher up his stomach he feels a little safer (and it’s not just because Jackson has abs. But those are nice, too). Jackson moves around a lot when he cuts a turn, so if Namjoon moves with him it’s like he’s not resisting the movement of the bike.

 

And then, when Jackson stops in front of Namjoon’s apartment, he slides off and almost collapses because wow, that’s a lot of adrenaline.

 

“Oh, wait, where did you want to write? Wherever we eat?” Namjoon says, before he takes another step to leave.

 

Jackson purses his lips thoughtfully. “Yep. You can pick where we eat,” he nods, smiling, and -- oh, right, they didn’t even pick a place to eat at.

 

“Um, sure, I’ll text you where,” Namjoon says, because he’s kind of blanking on what nice restaurants are out there.

 

“And I’ll text back. I swear,” Jackson winks, before revving up his bike. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Namjoon!” and with a final wave, he’s speeding back down the street.

 

“Remember that _I’m_ the one paying!” Namjoon calls after him, and he thinks he sees Jackson turn to look back at him, sticking his tongue out before he vanishes around the corner.

 

\--

 

As he’s walking down the hallway to his apartment, Namjoon’s already on his phone, googling a bunch of restaurants that are nice, but also not expensive, because Namjoon is Not A Millionaire™. And he also wants somewhere that won’t kick them out for excessive talking and probably laughing, because god knows what writing with Jackson will be like.

 

He’s gathered about three possible locations to eat at, and is finally ready to text Jackson, _hey what do u think about these places_ . He’s got the whole message typed in, but when he closes and locks the door behind him, he hears a noise. Noises. _Questionable_ noises.

 

Namjoon freezes. Robbers? In his and Hoseok’s apartment? Why, though? They literally own nothing but snacks and scratch paper for writing. Namjoon looks around for a heavy object to defend himself with, but there’s really nothing dangerous in their apartment aside from the knives in the kitchen -- which Namjoon’s used, like, once, before Hoseok banned him from the kitchen -- and then the scissors. But Namjoon is _not_ going to get blood on the carpet, so he settles for one of the chairs from the dining table.

 

He starts inching very cautiously (because this is possibly his life on the line right now) toward the corner turning into the living room, chair at his hip, and he frowns. Is Hoseok home? Is he okay? What if he got hurt?

 

Namjoon has the chair raised over his shoulder by the time he whips around the corner, and he opens his mouth to yell, _Get the fuck out of my apartment_! but the only thing that comes out is a very loud “Wwwhhat the fuck?!” because is that Hoseok _pinning_ _Taehyung to the couch and running his hands up and down his sides and also making out with him what the fuck._

 

Namjoon hears another noise, and looks over to see Hoseok nudge the remote off of the couch with his foot, and sees what has to be Taehyung’s tee shirt and hoodie strewn across the floor. How the hell have they not noticed Namjoon standing there, with a chair, looking very confused? And also yelling.

 

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Is that _Taehyung_ moaning? “C’mon, _c’mon_ , Hobi, _please.”_

 

“Okay, I’m going to go sleep right now, I encourage you to have fun, but also to please be quiet, because I’m really tired, okay, bye,” Namjoon blurts out all at once, and he puts the chair down where he’s standing and, without wasting a single fucking second, beelines it for his bedroom.

 

After he’s very appropriately slammed his door shut behind him, a silence overtakes the apartment. And then he hears Taehyung squeaking, “Shit, oh my god,” and Hoseok _laughing his ass off_ , before more noises ensue, and Namjoon gets his earbuds out _real_ quick.

 

He buries himself beneath his sheets, blasting T.O.P at the second loudest setting, because those noises are going to haunt him for the next three hours, and maybe even for the rest of his life. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s _ever_ wanted to go to work this badly.

 

And then, when he’s just starting to drift off to sleep, he hears his text ringtone, and very groggily, he opens his phone.

 

It’s Suga.

 

 _From ;_ **_♫_ ** _MY LIFE_ ♬ _; 2:34 p.m._

_Did you work on any songs today?_

 

Namjoon ends up texting Suga for a whole two hours, telling him about his latest idea for a new song, before he passes out for a pre-work nap. And yes, he did let Suga know he was going to fall asleep; he made sure not to leave him hanging.

 

\--

 

When Namjoon gets to work (after he passes by a pair of nerds spooning on his couch, and also Taehyung was still shirtless holy shit), Jinyoung’s already there, cleaning up around the sink. When he catches sight of Namjoon, a look of what Namjoon thinks is relief crosses his face.

 

“Hey, Namjoon. Have a nice weekend?” Jinyoung greets in a mellow tone, washing and then drying his hands.

 

“Amazing,” Namjoon says. _But also wild, because I just found out my crush is a gang leader, told his closest friends he was also my crush, and then witnessed someone’s stitches split. And also, I saw Jackson today for the first time in a week_. “Um, you?”

 

Jinyoung shrugs, adjusting his glasses. “Helped JB move his stuff around his house. I think he’s passed out right now, though. Kept on moving cabinets and couches by himself when I wasn’t looking,” he sighs.

 

“Does he have, like, a mansion?” Namjoon quirks a brow, sliding behind the counter. He pictures what Suga’s house looked like, and all the other (probably custom made) houses in the surrounding area.

 

“Yeah, it’s a nice estate. He lives alone, though, so there’s a lot of empty space,” Jinyoung says. Jaebum does seem like the type of person to want to live alone (especially seeing how popular he is at school, bless his poor soul).

 

Work rolls out from there, a steady flow of customers keeping both Namjoon and Jinyoung light on their feet. It isn’t until six o’clock that Jinyoung actually says something to Namjoon again, but this time, it isn’t about Jaebum.

 

“So you saw Jackson today?” Jinyoung says out of nowhere, when there’s no line and everyone’s orders have been made.

 

Namjoon’s about to ask why Jinyoung’s concerned, and why he just now is asking, but bites on his tongue. Jinyoung and Jackson are friends, and also this might have something to do with Jinyoung checking in on how much of a dick Namjoon is being, letting Jackson on so far.

 

“Yup. Why do you ask?” Namjoon answers, leaning back slightly against the counter.

 

Jinyoung folds his arms, sighs. “I...knew about the probation,” he says, “And Jackson texts me. A lot. Especially today.”

 

“Oh,” Namjoon says back, and -- he’s not going to lie, he feels a little shocked that Jinyoung would hide why Jackson was gone, but then he wonders if Jackson was even supposed to tell Jinyoung about the probation at all. Probably not the best idea to pry right now.

 

“Really? Well, what’d he text you?” Namjoon tries to put a humorous spin on things, because Jinyoung’s looking a little tired.

 

“Too much,” Jinyoung snorts, rolling his eyes. “But he seemed happy. From what he told me, you made him happy.”

 

That strikes something in Namjoon. Because it’s sort of...unbelievable, that someone as average as Namjoon could make someone like Jackson, someone who seems to be constantly bouncing off the walls with energy, happy.

 

“Ah. Well, I’m glad, then,” Namjoon smiles fondly. It’s nice to know he’s made someone’s day a little better, especially Jackson’s.

 

Jinyoung smiles back, but there’s some emotion mixed into his expression that typically isn’t there, but he looks away before Namjoon can get a proper look. And just then, Namjoon hears the sound of one -- _two_ motorcycles pulling up, and he readies himself at the counter. He peers through the glass to see who he’s gonna service today, and he locks up when he sees blonde hair and a white leather jacket. All he can think is _why,_ it’s too _soon_ , it’s only _Monday_ , and Namjoon just wants to make coffee in _peace_ \--

 

There’s a tapping on Namjoon’s elbow, and he jumps. It’s Jinyoung, looking out in the same direction as Namjoon, expression grim, eyebrows tucked low.

 

“I can handle this,” Jinyoung says, voice a little quiet, but there’s just the slightest waver in his voice, like he’s unsure of himself.

 

“You sure? I’ll be okay; he’s not going to do anything to me,” Namjoon says, eyeing the bikes outside warily. Those words are a lie; Namjoon just _knows_ things wouldn’t end well if he stayed up front to take their order -- but he doesn’t want to just shove Blondie all on Jinyoung.

 

“Positive,” Jinyoung nods, sounding just the barest bit terse.

 

So Namjoon steps away from the counter, over to the tea spritzer machine to clean it off, but when the door chimes, he can’t help but cast a glance over his shoulder.

 

Mark’s pushing the door open, whistling loudly, and he’s followed by the guy who tagged along with him. Namjoon looks away as Mark makes his way over to the counter.

 

“Hey, Junior,” Namjoon hears Mark saying. “How’s your night going?”

 

“Fine,” comes Jinyoung’s biting reply. “What do you want?”

 

Namjoon hears a _tsk, tsk_ noise, and the sound of fingers tapping on the counter.

 

“So cold. That’s no way to treat someone new,” Mark tuts, as though he’s a parent disapproving of a child’s mistake.

 

There’s a short silence, before Jinyoung speaks up again. “I don’t care, Mark. Just tell me what you want and I’ll make it,” he’s sighing, clearly exasperated.

 

Namjoon looks over his shoulder again, just to see who this ‘new someone’ is that Mark’s referring to. The guy’s tall, with red hair, and he seems to be disinterested in Jinyoung and Mark's banter, looking off to the side. His jacket looks like it's the same brand as Mark's, just with different coloring; sky blue, instead of white (did Mark mean new gang member when he said new guy?).

 

“Yugyeom, what do you want?” Mark chirps, batting at Yugyeom's shoulder.

 

Yugyeom blinks over at the menu, before he gives a flickering glance in Jinyoung’s direction. “Tall black iced tea,” he says, before slipping his hands into his jacket pockets.

 

Mark grins, sliding a hand over Yugyeom’s shoulder. “You’re so healthy. Do you even know what sugar tastes like?”

 

“If it makes you happy, I can use sweetener,” Yugyeom says, biting on his tongue.

 

Mark laughs (okay, it wasn’t _that_ funny), smiling to wide for Namjoon to feel comfortable. “So Junior, this is Yugyeom. Yugyeom, this is Junior,” Mark hums, patting Yugyeom’s shoulder (he’s practically leaning on him at this point). “You two wanna say hi?”

 

It’s quiet for a second, and Namjoon glances back over to see what’s going on. Yugyeom’s staring kind of blankly at Jinyoung (and although Namjoon can’t see Jinyoung’s face, he’s pretty sure he looks exactly the same), before he says, “I’m kind of tired, can we go sit down now?”

 

Mark sighs, “You’re _young_ ; you can’t be tired.” But he pushes off of his shoulder. “Go find a table, then,” he says, smiling, but before Yugyeom leaves, Mark adds, “And that’s Namjoon over there. Almost didn’t notice him, huh?”

 

And Namjoon tries, tries _really hard_ not to cringe or look up, and he manages not to cringe, but fails to keep his eyes away. Yugyeom’s giving Namjoon a look similar to the one he gave Jinyoung, definitely not enthralled in the slightest, and Namjoon finds he’s actually kind of thankful. Maybe this means Yugyeom won’t be interested in trying to fuck with Namjoon’s life.

 

“That’s nice that you have lots of friends,” Yugyeom clips, before he turns on heel and heads for one of the tables.

 

“And you know what I want, right?” Mark says to Jinyoung, handing him the money.

 

Jinyoung snorts. “It’s not that hard to remember,” he says, before pulling two cups out. He doesn’t say anything else to Mark, nor does Mark try and bait anything else out of him.

 

Namjoon glances up at Jinyoung as he storms over to get Yugyeom’s drink started, and _fuck_ \-- he looks ready to murder someone and dump the body out on the streets. Namjoon can’t help but wonder what Mark’s done to have so much bad blood with him (he can think of more than a few things, but he’s not going to jump to conclusions). Mark seems to reap an awful lot of pleasure from messing around with both him and Namjoon himself.

 

But...why _Namjoon_ ? Namjoon’s literally done _nothing_ to piss the guy off -- he’s only talked to him _once_. And then Namjoon wonders -- maybe it has something to do with...Jackson?

 

While Jinyoung’s (very angrily) pulling levers and adding ice, Namjoon catches Yugyeom and Mark’s conversation.

 

“You act like you’re going to collapse if you’re going to take one more step,” Mark says amusedly, nudging Yugyeom’s shoulder with his knuckles.

 

Yugyeom blows his bangs out of his face. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was tired,” he says, leaning back into his chair. “And you’re acting like you wanna start world war three, like calm down.”

 

“Junior’s a friend,” Mark says, and if Namjoon’s ever heard a white lie in his entire fucking life. Because there’s no _way_ that Mark is Junior’s friend -- right? Not with how they’ve been treating one another; it’s just -- _impossible_.

 

“If that’s what friendship looks like, I hope you don’t consider me your lover,” Yugyeom snorts, and he rises up and out of his seat when he sees Jinyoung moving toward the counter.

 

Jinyoung storms past Namjoon with the iced tea. “Black iced tea,” he says, sliding the cup with enough force for it to actually fall off and probably spill all over the floor. Except, Yugyeom’s there to catch it in time. He’s still, and Namjoon realizes he’s holding Jinyoung’s gaze. They’re both motionless for a handful of seconds, and Namjoon swears that the tension is nearly tangible, when Yugyeom turns and walks back to his table.

 

“Hey, are you...okay?” Namjoon tugs at Jinyoung’s shirt sleeve as he reaches for Mark’s cup, which looks to be the wrong size (undoubtedly, though, Jinyoung’s chosen it on purpose).

 

Jinyoung flinches. “I’m not bad, but not...good,” he replies, pushing his glasses up by the frame. He inhales shakily. “Why? Is it showing that much?”

 

 _As in, does it looks like you want to hurl Mark across the pacific ocean_ ? Namjoon thinks, _because in that case, yes._ “Er, kind of,” Namjoon looks off to the side. He kind of wants to ask Jinyoung why he seems to hate Mark’s guts so much, but now is probably not the greatest time to poke at that beehive.

 

“I’ll be fine,” Jinyoung exhales, and Namjoon is having trouble figuring out if Jinyoung’s talking to him or himself.

 

Namjoon keeps himself busy cleaning up the countertop, watching Jinyoung start Mark’s frappuccino with wary eyes, and again, he can hear Mark talking to Yugyeom.

 

“So what do you think of leader and his choice? Kind of interesting, right?” Mark is saying to Yugyeom.

 

“You mean, him and his boyfriend?” Yugyeom says, after taking a sip from his iced tea. He quirks his mouth up to a corner, shrugging. “I mean, if it makes him happy,” he says with a shrug.

 

Mark snickers, obviously amused by the topic. “Yeah, never pegged him as the guy to want a sugar daddy. I mean, at least, not nowadays.” And...what? Namjoon definitely should not be listening, but there’s nothing else to tune this shit out.

 

“Okay, first of all, he’s the richer one in the relationship, and second of all, he’s also the one that does the fucking. Pretty sure that makes _him_ the sugar daddy,” Yugyeom says pointedly.

 

“Well, isn’t he younger than his boyfriend? I thought that’s what dictated top and bottom in that kind of thing,” Mark yawns, like it’s no big deal that he’s very loudly discussing someone’s probably very private relationship that involves his _leader_ \-- shouldn’t Mark at least act like he might be sticking his foot in his mouth?

 

“The only thing I know about Jaebum is that he’s head over heels for him. And I’m not a sugar daddy expert, so don’t expect me to know the answers,” Yugyeom clips in a gravelly tone, and wait a second -- Jaebum? _Im Jaebum_? Jaebum, the friend of Jinyoung, who broke his phone and ended up going to six different Starbucks?

 

“Yeah, you’re right -- I bet he moans like a bitch in bed,” Mark sighs nonchalantly. “You think he screams? He looks like the kind of guy to beg for it.”

 

“Cinnamon frappuccino,” Jinyoung half yells, slamming the frappuccino very loudly onto the counter. If they really were referring to Im Jaebum, and Jinyoung overheard it, he must be fucking _pissed_ , because Jinyoung is definitely friends with Jaebum.

 

Mark skips over to the counter, swiping the drink with one hand. He grins wide at Jinyoung (there is _no way_ he doesn’t think Jinyoung didn’t hear him talking just now). “Thanks,” he says, sticking a straw in and taking a sip. Before he leaves, he grins at Jinyoung, saying, “Say hi to JB for me, will you? I’m sure the reason he hasn’t been walking lately isn’t _just_ because he’s moving furniture around.”

 

Jinyoung just kind of stands there, like he’s frozen, and Mark strides back over to Yugyeom. He says something in his ear, before laughing loudly, Yugyeom rolling his eyes and snorting in response, and then they’re both leaving.

 

The instant the door shuts behind the two of them, Namjoon makes his way over to Jinyoung, because he still hasn’t taken a single step from the takeout counter, and Namjoon’s getting worried.

 

“Are you really okay?” Namjoon says quietly as Jinyoung’s side, biting at the inside of his cheek. Now that he has a clear view of Jinyoung’s face, Namjoon sees that he looks...shocked. Or maybe shaken is a better word; it’s like he’s just heard a gunshot right up close to his ear.

 

Jinyoung screws his eyes shut, a hand reaching up to squeeze the frame of his glasses. “I’m fine,” he says. He blinks his eyes open, looking to Namjoon, and, voice cracking, adds an uncertain, “Maybe.”

 

Namjoon looks out the window, watching as Mark and Yugyeom pulling out of the parking lot. He feels like he’s missed something that passed between Jinyoung and Mark, but aside from the whole...Jaebum and his (alleged) sugar daddy ordeal, he’s got no clue about what’s just gone over his head.

 

“Were...they talking about Jaebum?” Namjoon swallows, and then wonders if he shouldn’t have said anything about it, because now Jinyoung might flip him over the counter for pushing the subject. “As in, uh, your friend Jaebum.”

 

Jinyoung stares down at the floor, folding his arms, and oh, Namjoon recognizes this. This is Jinyoung’s, _I’m thinking really hard right now, please don’t bother me_ mode.

 

“Yes,” Jinyoung says after a second, looking up at Namjoon from the corner of his eye.

 

“Oh,” Namjoon says, because really, what is there to say? Not like he can just casually start probing Jinyoung with questions regarding why Jaebum (allegedly) has a sugar daddy (but isn’t Jaebum rich himself? And from a rich family? Namjoon still doesn’t understand anything about -- _that_ ) that just so happens to be a gang leader. And then he remembers that’s probably not why Jinyoung’s so miffed right now; Mark was shit-talking about how Jaebum is in bed. Real gross and not cool. Not cool at all.

 

Jinyoung lets out a frustrated sigh, and he has this almost pained expression on his face. “Can we talk about this later? I know you have a lot of questions, but I’m just…” he purses his lips, eyes apologetic. “Not right now, okay?” he says, sounding exhausted.

 

“Sure,” Namjoon nods hurriedly. It really was kind of ridiculous of Namjoon to ask about Jaebum; must be like turning the knife in Jinyoung’s gut.

 

“Thanks,” Jinyoung exhales, and he straightens his back, like he’s regained a little more confidence in himself.

 

They don’t say anything else to each other for the rest of the night, but a part of Namjoon gets the feeling Jinyoung actually _did_ want to talk. And Namjoon doesn’t know what it’d be about, but the little pauses in Jinyoung’s steps and his occasional, wordless glances in his direction send a pretty clear message that he’s anxious.

 

\--

 

Namjoon’s just starting to stretch his legs out (class has just finished) and he’s walking down campus while replying to a text from Suga, when his attention is snagged by the all too familiar rumble of a motorcycle.

 

“Hey, stranger,” Jackson’s saying, kicking his heel into the concrete of the sidewalk (fuck, he almost drives right into Namjoon). He moves up in his seat, making room for Namjoon. “Ready to kick it?”

 

“Ready to eat; I’m starving,” Namjoon says, climbing on. It’s when he’s got his hands firmly around Jackson’s torso that he remembers: Jackson does Not Drive Like Suga™.

 

“Hey, d’you think you could maybe -- ” Namjoon’s starts, licking his lips, and Jackson glances back at him quizzically. “ -- uh, not go so fast? I mean, I kinda got my laptop and stuff, those are sort of important to me.”

 

Jackson blinks, quiet for a moment, and for a second, Namjoon thinks he’s just insulted Jackson’s style of driving, when Jackson breaks out into a crooked grin. He turns face front again, and digs his foot into the pedal of his bike. “Sure thing,” he says, and Namjoon is just about to thank him, when Jackson fucking accelerates to the speed of sound.

 

“Dude, what the fuck!?” Namjoon yelps. He can’t really do anything except grapple with the material of Jackson’s white tank top, because if he lets go even just the _slightest bit_ he’s probably going to be flung right off the bike and into the asphalt.

 

Except, Jackson doesn’t slow down by a single increment of speed, and now Namjoon’s panicking because what if they get pulled over? What if they crash? Can Jackson even hear Namjoon at this point?

 

He’s breathing hard, going through every single ‘what if’ situation as Jackson makes every turn. For some godforsaken reason they haven’t run into _any_ red lights, and Namjoon’s pretty sure Jackson’s kept up the same pace since they’ve first pushed off from the curb at campus.

 

Namjoon doesn’t know how long it’s been, but they _finally_ make it to the Panera Namjoon had suggested. And he’s ready to ask Jackson what the heck that was, because does he understand the term _slow down_ , when Jackson hops off the bike literally the second he parks the bike.

 

“I’ll be right back, gotta use the bathroom. You can order what you want,” Jackson chirps, and he’s darting inside the restaurant before Namjoon can say anything. And, huh -- maybe that’s why Jackson tried to break the sound barrier.

 

Namjoon double checks his laptop bag, and sighs in relief to see he’s still got everything (including more than twenty bucks; he checked three times this morning).

 

Namjoon ends up ordering just a panini and a water, and curses, because he has no idea what Jackson wants. A salad? He does know that Jackson’s on a diet, so maybe that’s what he’d like, but then, what kind of salad would he want? After a second, Namjoon decides he can buy a pastry for him if he asks, ordering the salad along with a water.

 

He’s checking his phone, quickly answering the text Suga sent him before Jackson picked him up, when Jackson slides into the booth across from him.

 

“Hey, what’dja order for me?” Jackson says, brushing the fringe of his blonde bangs back.

 

“Salad,” Namjoon responds, sliding his phone into his pocket (Suga just texted him a couple of songs he thought _sounded decent_ ; Namjoon wanted his opinion, asking about it before Jackson had picked him up).

 

“You know me too well,” Jackson grins, leaning back into the booth. Namjoon breathes a soft sigh of relief; thank god, Jackson didn’t flip out (and hey, even if he did, Namjoon would just tell him he should drive slower the next time he drives). He pulls his own phone out of his pocket, and after a couple of taps, looks up at Namjoon expectantly. “So, you wanna start writing?”

 

“Yeah, I actually got a draft started, so -- ” Namjoon searches through his bag for his notebook, pulling it out and flipping to the latest page. A couple stanzas have been crossed out, a few notes dashed over the top. Suga wrote in a couple of suggestions across the top in his usual mint green pen; all notes from previous visits to Suga’s house. “ -- this is what I got.” He drops his notebook onto the table, spinning it to face Jackson.

 

Jackson reads over it once, and when he’s done he nods, taking a sip from his water. “You got a lot done! Bet it sounds better when you rap it, huh?” he says, biting at his lip and playing with his piercing, and, ah -- he must have switched it out with another piercing; it’s a silver-ish pearl, shining in the light of the restaurant, different from yesterday.

 

“Um, yeah, wanna hear it?” Namjoon blinks, refocusing on Jackson’s eyes.

 

Jackson leans back again, still biting at his piercing. “Yeah, that’d be cool. I’ll go after you,” he hums, looking eager.

 

So Namjoon starts it off, a little quieter than he’d like, but they’re in public, and Namjoon would prefer to attract attention solely from Jackson (not for _that_ reason; Namjoon’s just not interested in everyone staring at him). His flow feels a little shakier than normal, but once he zones in on Jackson’s earrings he finds a better rhythm. Before he’s even finished, he’s found that Jackson’s earring matches his piercing, and that his hair has been parted a few inches from where it had been the other day.

 

“And that’s all I’ve got right now,” Namjoon says, after he’s recited the final line.

 

Jackson grins wide, like he’s tasted something sweet. “Gonna be straight with you; your voice is fucking sexy,” Jackson says with a quirk of his brow, and wait a second --

 

“Th-thanks?” Namjoon splutters, because, uh, how is he supposed to respond to _that_? And if anyone has a sexy voice, it’d be Jackson and Suga -- fuck.

 

“Caesar salad and a steak and swiss panini,” their waiter cuts in, before Namjoon has a chance to ask Jackson what the fuck that meant, and also if that was the only thing he took away from Namjoon’s rap.

 

“Thanks,” Jackson smiles up at their waiter, and he starts digging into his food. As Namjoon eyes Jackson eating, he wonders if it’s just natural for Jackson to say those kinds of things. And honestly, Namjoon wouldn’t be surprised if it was, but it still wouldn’t take away any of Namjoon’s shock (it’s not everyday someone says there’s anything even remotely sexy, or even _alright_ about him).

 

Jackson starts talking (while eating, of course) about his own kind of writing, how he adapted his own style. And Namjoon’s not really sure how the topic shifted over to how Jackson got into basketball, but with how Jackson’s so intensely recounting his first game, Namjoon can’t _not_ be interested.

 

When Jackson’s almost finished with his salad, he taps a finger against the paper of Namjoon’s notebook. Namjoon looks down, and sees he’s pointing at Suga’s mint green handwriting.

 

“Your friend write this?” Jackson says through a bite of his food, reaching for his water.

 

“Oh, yeah. It’s from when we first started writing, from last week,” Namjoon nods, glancing back down at his notebook. Suga had written a couple of suggestions for the theme, how to better polish the underlying meaning of the song.

 

Jackson taps his fork against his bowl, swallowing. “Your friend has a real serious way of saying ‘be happy’,” he says. “Like, metaphorical, I mean! It’s good, fucking fantastic, don’t get me wrong, but, uh -- ” Jackson taps his knuckles against the page. “Hm, I’ll just talk it out to you. My hand writing’s kind of messy.”

 

“Oh, sure,” Namjoon sits up in his seat. And Jackson isn’t wrong; is kind of true -- Suga said he wanted to compare the feeling of being happy to something, so the draft ended up being composed of mostly figurative language; less straightforward, and more metaphorical.

 

“So, the point of the song is to cheer someone up, huh?” Jackson muses, and his eyes are on Namjoon.

 

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathes, maintaining eye contact.

 

Jackson leans forward, almost over the table, and Namjoon holds his breath. “Okay, so, you don’t have to listen to me, like, word for word, but these are just a couple of things I was thinking -- ” he starts, looking back up at Namjoon, and he’s biting at his piercing again.

 

Jackson goes over a couple of the line, talking out loud and frowning when he makes a slip up, or says a word wrong and asks what Namjoon thinks, if he’s doing okay, Namjoon suddenly sees how much Jackson is into the whole piece, how passionate he is with his words and how genuinely happy, _emotional_ he seems.

 

He sees how Jackson’s cheeks flush pink everytime he smiles, laughs, tells a quick joke, how he puts the extra effort to explain a suggested edit -- and it’s then that Namjoon realizes he’s --

 

“So, now that I’ve done a totally accurate analysis of you and your friend’s writing, I guess it’s my turn to show you some stuff,” Jackson claps his hands, and with a flick of his bangs he breaks through Namjoon’s train of thought. “Ready to be blown away?”

 

Namjoon swallows, and his mouth feels a lot drier than it did fifteen minutes ago. “We’ll see about that,” he smiles.

 

“Hey, I try, okay? Don’t laugh at me if I fuck up the first line,” Jackson squints, folding his arms. Namjoon laughs, and then Jackson clears his throat, inhales deep, and --

 

And Namjoon listens.

 

♪

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an alternate title for this piece: ???????????, an autobiography by kim namjoon


	3. "I love the feeling of not knowing what the fuck to do"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Namjoon really didn't expect any of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise, it's another update ! :0 and it's early, woah ! hello to returning readers and new readers alike ! hope you all had a lovely past week. (also: forgive me, i meant to update friday...i got carried away in one last edit and now here i stand, updating on what looks to be a saturday ;;) 
> 
> so let's get down to business:
> 
>  **a quick note:** this time the word count is roughly 44k, gosh i really didn't mean to go that high ;; please make sure you rest properly while reading ! try not to read in the dark and please consider taking breaks from time to time ! i apologize if i cause any lost sleep ;; 
> 
> **content notes:** remember !! namjoon is a cute n tol barista slash college student !! that will always be the most important part of this story, guarantee it.
> 
> so this chapter was an absolute blast to write out ;; namjoon is certainly going to have a blast himself in this chapter !!! i don't want to give any spoilers this time around, but i hope you will find it enjoyable !
> 
>  **warnings:** there is a scene involving an injury that is of a more serious degree than the injury i warned of in the last chapter, and there is the mention of blood in the same scene. but again, _nothing_ about the injury or blood is given detailed, explicit description ! beyond this, there is nothing major you should feel worried about.
> 
> so without further ado, please enjoy the third chapter ! 'v'

 

♪

 

Wednesday comes around, and as much as Namjoon is ready to watch another one of Jackson’s basketball games, it’s not like he can just brush off Josh’s cry for help when he’s told Wooyoung’s out sick at work.

 

As expected, Jackson is absolutely _heartbroken_ (read: he sends Namjoon at least a hundred emojis, mostly consisting of crying faces and sweat drops that he claims are his tears) when Namjoon lets him know he has work. Jackson swears they’ll see each other again during the week, though, so Namjoon has that to look forward to.

 

Unsurprisingly, Jackson still wins his game, and snapchats him _did it 4 uuuuuuuuuu_ accompanied by a sweaty (but also kind of  gorgeous) selfie, and even a video of him screaming and chest bumping Zitao (Namjoon almost drops his phone because he was _not_ expecting Jackson to yell “ _Fuck yeah_ !!” _that_ loudly).

 

Naturally, Namjoon anticipates that Jackson will be open on Thursday -- but of course, nope; no he’s not. Jackson texts him another wave of sad themed emojis, telling him he has a _stupid fuckn meeting that i rly dont even need to be at._ Namjoon makes sure to send him consolation pictures of the cupcakes Hoseok brought home from work.

 

In the afternoon, Jackson texts him he’s still busy, that he has _ANOTHER FUCKING MEETING FUCK ME_ , and right when Namjoon’s about to tell him he’s sending him good vibes, Jackson immediately sends a follow up text.

 

_From ; J-Flawless ; 12:45 a.m._

_lol but no way in hell im gonna skip lol not worth not being able to see ur lovely face_

 

And Namjoon just sort of...stares at his phone, and thank god Hoseok’s in the other room; god he’d be laughing so hard if he saw how red Namjoon’s face is. And then Namjoon remembers -- oh, yeah, doesn’t Jackson like Namjoon? And didn’t Namjoon promise to himself he’d get that sorted out when he first saw Jackson again? What happened to all of that sorting stuff out?

 

Namjoon spends about five minutes trying to come up with a response that a) doesn’t make him look like he’s more of a fucking idiot than he already is, b) also doesn’t make it seem like he’s flat out ignoring the compliment, and c) but also doesn’t lead Jackson on, because that’d be one of the worst things Namjoon could do to Jackson.

 

Except, Namjoon fails in every attempt to string together anything that follows that outline, and as if on cue, Hoseok bursts into his room and demands he come eat ice cream with him in the kitchen. So Namjoon quickly types in _cant wait to spend time w u too so dont even think about skipping also brb_ and plugs his phone in to charge.

 

Hoseok’s already at the counter, shoveling ice cream into one bowl (which is for Namjoon; Hoseok eats straight from the tub). When Hoseok catches sight of him, he sticks a spoon beneath the bowl’s contents and holds it out to him. Once Namjoon has the bowl in his hands, Hoseok launches into conversation.

 

“You haven’t been home all week,” Hoseok whines, boosting himself up to sit on the edge of the counter.

 

Namjoon stabs into his ice cream, and he’s a little disappointed to find that it’s vanilla, and not strawberry, but hey, it’s ice cream. “Well, it’s not my fault I have work, and also things to do other than screw around in the apartment,” he says airily. He’s _still_ trying to cleanse his memory of those noises.

 

Hoseok has the nerve to laugh, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he even bothers. “You’re not still mad about that, are you?” Hobi grins, picking up the tub of ice cream and scooping up a sizeable bite.

 

“I thought our apartment was being robbed, and I was ready to throw a chair across the fucking room, so I dunno. You tell me,” Namjoon says flatly, shifting his weight to his right foot as he takes a bite of his ice cream.

 

Hoseok laughs again, and Namjoon almost wishes he’d just choke on that bite, right there, just to shut him up. “Oh my god, we weren’t even doing anything. We were just kissing; we only fuck when I’m _one hundred percent_ sure you’re busy,” he says, and _no._ Namjoon did _not_ need to know that. And then Hoseok lifts his spoon to point accusingly in Namjoon’s direction. “You seriously need to get laid; you’re always so stressed.”

 

Of course, it’s _Namjoon_ that chokes on his ice cream, and he almost spits it all over the fucking tiles, because _hey_ , Namjoon is _still a virgin_ , as in he’s never touched another person’s dick in his life (nor has his dick been touched by anyone -- wait a second, that’s private information).

 

“What the fuck, no,” Namjoon wipes at his mouth. He wishes he could just tell Hoseok he’s not interested in that kind of thing, but that’d be a flat out lie, and there’s no way Hoseok wouldn’t call him out on it (because Namjoon’s talked about it with him before, okay?

 

Meanwhile, Hoseok is dying of laughter again, almost dropping his spoon. “Holy shit, _your face_ \-- ” he cackles, and Namjoon is Not Amused. Not at all. “Okay, maybe you need a boyfriend then. Is that better?” he amends, and, well -- fuck.

 

“Uh,” Namjoon stutters, and leave it to Kim Namjoon to fuck everything up. Fucking shit.

 

At least that shuts up Hoseok, but the silence lasts for literally four seconds before he bursts to life again. “Wait a second -- you’re kidding me; _do you have a boyfriend_?! How could you not tell me?! I thought we promised we’d be like two hundred percent honest with each other from now on?” he gapes, leaning toward Namjoon, and _no!!_ Namjoon does _Not Have a Boyfriend_!

 

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” Namjoon half-shouts -- and he very nearly blurts out a _But I wish I did!_ , but he has at least a small shred of dignity he’d like to keep.

 

Hoseok sets the tub down onto the counter, along with his spoon. He’s got that dumb smirk that says he’s going to ask a million questions, and Namjoon is very Ready To Die™.

 

“That’s not what it sounds like,” Hoseok sing songs. “You were talking to your god -- I mean, your friend from Starbucks, right? Suga? I’ve noticed you’ve been texting him a lot lately. As in, a _lot_ , a lot.”

 

At first, Namjoon wants to ask him how he knows that, but then he remembers Hobi had been asking who Namjoon was texting all week, and Namjoon had confidently answered _Suga_ or _Jackson_ each time, so. Not doing that. “Yeah, but it’s not -- I’m kind of -- he’s -- we’re -- ”

 

“Oh, so _that’s_ who you went out with for a date on Monday instead of eating lunch with me,” Hoseok cuts in, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Okay, first off, it wasn’t my decision, I was literally going to call you when I got picked up out of nowhere, and second, it wasn’t Suga,” Namjoon counters, and he’s about to congratulate himself, when he realizes he’s just confirmed that he went out with someone. But it _wasn’t a date_ ; it was _lunch_. Food. Talking. Laughing. Smiling. Being happy.

 

But -- hold on -- shit. Would Jackson consider those dates, though?

 

“Explain yourself! I demand it,” Hoseok says loudly, swinging his legs over the edge of the counter.

 

“What? There’s nothing to explain, we had lunch and talked, that was it,” Namjoon says, flustered. And also Namjoon rode on a bike with him four times, so there’s that.

 

“Who is the other half of ‘we?’ Do I know them? Do you like them? These are important questions that need answering,” Hoseok clips, sounding too delighted with himself to be healthy. “No one is leaving this apartment until you spill.”

 

Namjoon sighs, as loud and as dramatic as possible. Hoseok will never let Namjoon live, will he? “The guy I went to lunch with -- he’s -- you remember the guy who wanted the dragon fruit cupcake, right?” Namjoon starts.

 

“Oh, Jackson. Yep.” Hoseok nods, looking intrigued (whether or not that’s a good thing, Namjoon doesn’t know).

 

“Yeah, so. Apparently. He has. A crush. On me,” Namjoon says slowly, carefully.

 

And of course, Hoseok is actually _pleased_ with this revelation; elated, even. “Aw, that’s _adorable_ ,” he swoons, and Namjoon doesn’t know if he wants to punch Hoseok or himself. “But hey, what about Suga? Don’t you have a thing going on with him? Like, all you did last week was hang out with him.”

 

“ _Why_ does everyone assume we’re dating? I mean -- I would _definitely_ date him, but -- that’s not the point, he’s way out of my league and I don’t think he’d ever even _consider_ thinking of me like that,” Namjoon says, near hysterical, and then he grows quiet. “But. Yeah. I’m also. Talking to him so, um.” He leaves it off there, blinking down at his ice cream, meek, embarrassed. He’s willing to bet a hundred bucks that he’s blushing right now, _god_ \--

 

Hoseok frowns, and at first, Namjoon thinks he’s going to call him out for being a player, when all he says is, “Y’know, you should give yourself more credit. Like, _way_ more credit. You’re an awesome guy -- like, I’d know that best.”

 

 _Is that really true, though?_ Namjoon can’t help but ask silently, doubtful. Because there’s really nothing... _special_ about Namjoon. Yeah, he’s got a shiny IQ number, he’s decent with music, but that’s...it? And does that even make him desirable? Namjoon has a list of things that he thinks other people find desirable, and Namjoon certainly doesn’t cut the criteria --

 

“Hey, stop that, seriously. Don’t downgrade yourself just because _you_ think you aren’t worth it.” Hoseok picks up his spoon, pointing it at him again (he ends up flicking a dollop of ice cream across the counter, but they’re both too focused on more important things to really care).

 

Namjoon gives an exasperated sigh, absently picking at his ice cream. “Yeah, well. Even if Suga did want to date me, what the heck would I do then? Because Jackson’s…” _hilarious, sweet, loveable_ \-- “...wonderful, and I’m pretty sure that I like him, too?” his tone goes up, and it sounds like he’s asking a question more than giving a statement.

 

Hoseok purses his lips, tapping his heel against the cabinet. “Well, I still haven’t met him, so I mean, if you want my honest opinion, you’re gonna have to introduce me to him first,” he finally says.

 

“That doesn’t help me,” Namjoon groans, running his fingers through his bangs. He needs help, like _right now, he’s fucked up, please someone give him advice._

 

Hoseok shrugs. “You’re the one leaving me out of the loop.”

 

Namjoon glowers in Hoseok’s direction, because _really_ ? “ _You_ want to talk about keeping someone out of the loop,” Namjoon says challengingly -- because this has really just been something over two (or really, if Namjoon’s being real, ever since he’s met both Jackson and Suga) _weeks_ , not two _months_.

 

“Okay, well -- I’d just do whatever your _heart_ tells you to do, or your gut, or whatever you trust -- _aside_ from your brain. They both sound like good people, so do whatever makes you happy,” Hoseok sighs, holding his hands up. It’s not a sign of resignation, but more a sign of desperation.

 

“ _That_ doesn’t help me, either,” Namjoon groans again, and he wants to throw his spoon onto the ground. And he can’t _believe_ that Hoseok just sniped at Namjoon’s instincts -- they work most of the time! Sort of!

 

Hoseok snickers. “Sounds to me like Joonie’s got two boyfriends,” he chimes, and Namjoon nearly loses it right there. But all he can do is groan some more and roll his eyes, because honestly, he doesn’t want to think about this anymore.

 

\--

 

Work on Friday starts out like it usually does, with Namjoon easing into the flow of things and Jinyoung at his back. And it stays that way until Jinyoung starts talking, but then again, it’s really not that out of the ordinary, because the first thing he says is:

 

“So how are you and Jackson?”

 

And Namjoon almost throws the espresso he’s working on over his shoulder, because why. _Why._

 

“Fine,” Namjoon swallows, composing himself. He doesn’t even bother asking Jinyoung why he’s curious, because at this point, what’s the fucking point.

 

“That’s good,” Jinyoung hums, and what? Is that? Supposed? To mean?

 

But Namjoon’s answer actually seems to content Jinyoung, because he ( _amazingly_ ) doesn’t ask about Jackson anymore. And yeah, that’s nice, because it gives Namjoon room to think, but also not nice, because it gives Namjoon room to think.

 

Room to think about Suga, and also Jackson, and about how he would date either of them. Jackson he _knows_ would be down, so Namjoon ends up mostly thinking about how in the world he’d be able to date Suga, because he’s just...so far ahead of him. Light years, probably. He’s advanced in pretty much all the ways Namjoon hasn’t; Namjoon knows, because he can see it in his eyes, in what he says, and how he writes.

 

But. Hey. Maybe Jinyoung...would know stuff. Or at least, maybe provide perspective? But it’s not like Namjoon can just outright tell him, _Hey, I have a crisis, how do I get someone that’s really fucking amazing and really fucking rich to notice me?_ because god knows that Jinyoung will squint at him, and tell him he either has no chance, or that he’s overthinking things (which is probably actually true).

 

So Namjoon settles for the subtle, “Hey, can I have your opinion on something?”

 

Jinyoung looks up from his in-progress macchiato, eyebrow quirked. “Sure. On what?”

 

Namjoon swallows; do _not_ fuck this up, _do not fuck this up --_ “So, do you know how to...date someone?” he says, and that was _not_ what Namjoon wanted to say, _goddamnit_ \--

 

Jinyoung frowns back at him, looking half confused and half offended, like he thinks Namjoon’s questioning his history in dating.

 

“I mean, how to _start_ dating someone,” Namjoon amends at the speed of light, because _no_ , he’s _not_ asking about Jinyoung’s dating history.

 

“Oh,” Jinyoung says, blinking, and after he finishes his drink, looks back over at Namjoon. “You mean, how to ask someone out?”

 

“Er, yeah. That,” Namjoon nods. It’s not the specific question Namjoon intended to ask, but it’s a start.

 

Jinyoung slides the macchiato away and turns back to Namjoon. “Well, for starters, I suppose it’s best to just ask them. Can’t be that difficult. The worst thing that could happen is that they say no,” Jinyoung hums thoughtfully, before cocking a brow. “But y’know, Jackson would definitely say yes. Are you worried he’s going to reject you?”

 

Namjoon almost chokes. “Uh, I guess I’m just...nervous?” he gets out, throat feeling dry, because it’s? True? Namjoon’s never _legitimately_ asked someone out, so of _course_ he’s anxious about even the _prospect_ of asking someone out -- but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s fucked this up, he’s fucked this whole conversation up, god fucking dammit Kim Namjoon --

 

Jinyoung actually chuckles, like he’s amused by Namjoon’s suffering. “Trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about, Jackson’s literally the nicest person on the planet,” he says, and Namjoon knows he’s trying to comfort him, but it only pushes him further to the brink of insanity. “So you’re not dating Jackson yet?” Jinyoung suddenly backtracks out of nowhere.

 

“Uh -- no,” Namjoon shakes his head. “I was kind of...hoping I’d have a chance with someone else, but that was...super unrealistic, if I’m being honest. I really do like Jackson back, I swear! So, um. I’m going to think about asking him out?” and _wow_ , this conversation did not go where Namjoon had hoped it would -- he sounds like an _asshole_ at this point, talking about thinking of dating two (amazing, terrific, wonderful, beautiful, perfect) people.

 

Jinyoung frowns, and it’s not disapproving, but it’s not exactly angry, either. “You...what? You like someone else?” he says, and _of course_ Jinyoung’s gonna take it as translation for _Namjoon’s a fucking player_ , god. Namjoon’s just...indecisive? That does _not_ make him a player. Right? It’s -- it’s not a crime to think that mint tastes just as good as dragon fruit -- and okay, maybe that analogy is a little messed up, but _hey_.

 

When Namjoon just sort of stares back at Jinyoung, words refusing to come out of his mouth, Jinyoung sighs. “Alright, then. But if you haven’t started dating him yet, I need to warn you about -- ”

 

And Jinyoung stops mid-sentence, because that’s the sound of Jackson’s bike. Pulling up.

 

Namjoon whips his phone out, and lo and behold, it’s six fifteen. Shit.

 

He looks out the window, and nearly screams because that’s. _Mark_. Pulling up. Right next to Jackson.

 

Jinyoung seems to be on the same page, looking just as stricken as Namjoon feels, and before Jinyoung can suggest to handle it, Namjoon speaks up.

 

“I’ll be fine,” Namjoon says. “I mean, uh, I can take their order,” he clarifies, when Jinyoung blinks at him. “It can’t be that bad if Jackson’s around, right?” he coughs. But would Jinyoung know the answer to that better than Namjoon? After all, he seems to know a lot more about Mark than Namjoon does.

 

Jinyoung presses his lips together, looking hesitant to agree. Finally, he gives, shoulders sagging. “Alright,” he breathes, and then his tone turns sharp. “But the second something happens, I’m not going to sit back.”

 

“Yeah, chill, it’ll be fine; I really doubt anything’s gonna happen,” Namjoon laughs nervously, and when he hears the door open, nudges Jinyoung’s elbow. “I’ll be okay,” he says assuringly, although he’s honestly not sure if he’s talking to Jinyoung or himself.

 

Jinyoung sighs, but turns away and makes his way to the back counter.

 

 _You got this, Namjoon_ , Namjoon tells himself, taking a deep breath. _Just focus on Jackson. Focus on the smiles. Focus on the hot body -- no. Not the hot body. The face._ Just _the face. The eyebrows, and the piercings, and the cheekbones, and the really, really nice jawline, oh god, that’s so fucking hot --_

 

“Hey, Namjoon!”

 

It’s Jackson, shouting from all the way across the Starbucks, pushing the door open. Namjoon tries for what he thinks is a mostly natural smile, and he turns to face the sound of Jackson’s voice.

 

He’s greeted with Jackson’s signature, brighter-than-the-fucking-sun smile, and he just looks so invigorated and happy to be here that Namjoon _swears_ the room grows just a little brighter. Yeah, Namjoon’s in so fucking deep -- but _listen_ : Jackson’s just positively _radiant_ , and Namjoon should just ask him out right now --

 

\-- or not, because, um, that’s Mark, glaring at Namjoon like he’s the cause of world hunger and poverty in China. So...maybe next time?

 

“Hey,” Namjoon waves. _Hey, I want to date you but I also want to date Suga; I am definitely a complete asshole. Your thoughts on that?_ he almost says, but those are the kinds of questions that only complete _complete_ assholes ask.

 

Jackson slides right up to the counter, palms face down, and he leans forward. “Feels good to be back!” he says, gnawing at his piercing. “You still remember what I want, right?”

 

Namjoon kind of spaces (like the idiot he is), staring down at Jackson’s lips as he bites at his piercing. And hey, it’s another new one; this one’s actually white, and it sort of reminds Namjoon of the stars. It’s then that Namjoon wonders what it’s like to kiss someone with a piercing, if it’ll rub against his skin, if it feels cool on his lips, and Namjoon could probably just lean forward just a smidge and he’d know -- no. Stop it, stop it _now_ , what the _fuck_ \--

 

“Does ‘venti peppermint mocha with extra chocolate chips, extra chocolate syrup, and triple whip’ sound right?” Namjoon smiles back at Jackson, trying not to sound nervous, and he does his best to ignore the potent glare Mark’s trying to burn him up with.

 

“Word for word.” Jackson _winks_ , and Namjoon has to control himself, because he’s either going to collapse from laughter or die of embarrassment. He manages not to do either, but he’s definitely smiling like an idiot, and his face is more than likely pink.

 

“We gotta go soon, Jacks,” Mark taps a loose fist against Jackson’s shoulder, sounding a little impatient, and all Namjoon has to say about that is fuck that, fuck you, and fuck off, but he isn’t going to sink to _that_ level of rudeness.

 

“Nah, it’s cool, meeting doesn’t start ‘til seven. We got time,” Jackson says back, and he glances past Namjoon’s shoulder. “Hey, mom, how you doing tonight?”

 

“Fuck you,” Jinyoung scoffs, but Namjoon thinks he hears a smile in his voice. “It’s fine. You have dinner yet?”

 

“You fucking bet, mom,” Jackson grins, pointing at Jinyoung. “Yeah, had pasta. Don’t worry; I made sure to order water instead of soda.”

 

“I’m so proud,” Jinyoung says flatly, and Namjoon can’t help but laugh a little.

 

“Jacks,” Mark says a little too softly, a little too _sensually_ , and Namjoon kind of wants to kick Mark’s ass right out of their Starbucks (it would give Namjoon the _greatest_ satisfaction).

 

“I got it, I got it, we’re cool,” Jackson says, like he’s trying to calm Mark down. And then he turns back to Namjoon. “Oh, add a cinnamon roll frap, please. Make it venti,” he says.

 

“Sure,” Namjoon says, doing his best to maintain his smile as he punches in the request.

 

Jackson’s swiping his card (funny seeing Jackson use credit and not cash) when he speaks up again. “Hey, so, you’re gonna go to my game tomorrow, right? I missed you at the last one,” he says, pouting slightly.

 

“Definitely,” Namjoon grins, and he swears Mark stiffens at his confirmation. “Where’s it at?”

 

“Gold Crest; it’s a nice campus,” Jackson sniffs. “But it’s sort of far, so you might wanna leave early. Starts at the usual time.”

 

“Sure, don’t think I have anything going on tomorrow,” Namjoon says, smiling, and he wonders if Jinyoung’s paying attention to all of this (who is he kidding; of _course_ Jinyoung’s listening).

 

Jackson smiles triumphantly, and when he’s finished his signature, pops the pen back into its slot. “Well, then, I was wondering -- if you’re free, and if you want, we could go out after the game.”

 

Mark tentatively rests his hand over Jackson’s wrist (hey, _stop that_ ), and he looks tense. “Jacks, don’t you -- ”

 

“Nah, I’m clear. We don’t have anything afterwards, leader can’t put my ass on probation ‘cause I ain't got anything to fuck up,” Jackson shakes his head, giving Mark’s hand a gentle squeeze, before brushing him off, looking back to Namjoon. “So you in?” he says, and he’s giving Namjoon those pretty, pretty eyes again, and Namjoon could probably pass out right there.

 

“For sure; should make up for lost time,” Namjoon says, and then he realizes -- did Jackson say ‘go out’? As in, _go out_ go out?

 

“Great! It’s a date then,” Jackson exclaims, and, uh, uhhh, _uhhh --_ “I’m so glad you’re not gonna skip out on my game, fucking fantastic.”

 

“Hey, I was _working_. Wasn’t about to leave my coworker out on the ropes,” Namjoon protests, and he wonders if Jackson even realizes the gravity of his previous statement.

 

“Maybe you need to make more of an effort, then,” Mark sighs off to the side, looking out the window and. That. _Fucker_. What the fuck is his problem?

 

“Relax, it’s cool. I’m just teasing you, babe,” Jackson says with a grin, and -- and Namjoon’s pretty sure his heart is about to fucking beat right out of his fucking chest.

 

“Sure...babe,” Namjoon says back slowly, because he’s pretty sure Jinyoung’s staring into the back of his head, god, it’s like a laser’s trying to bore right through him. It takes a second for Namjoon to realize, wait a second, he just called Jackson a babe, holy _shit_ \--

 

And Namjoon expects Jackson to launch into a discussion about something completely off-topic and irrelevant like he normally does, but instead, he’s...quiet (which is a first, holy shit). His mouth is kind of hanging open, just slightly, and Namjoon wonders if he’s done the wrong thing, calling Jackson babe back -- maybe Jackson was just joking, maybe he calls all of his friends babe --

 

“Close your mouth, you’re starting to drool,” Jinyoung pipes up from the back, and Namjoon jumps. It takes him a second to realize he’s talking to Jackson, and not him.

 

Jackson snaps his mouth shut, and he shakes his head like he’s trying to refocus. Mark turns his head to glare in Namjoon’s direction, and he looks fucking _murderous_ , but Namjoon’s too shaken to really care.

 

“I can bring cupcakes; Hobi always brings some home for weekends,” Namjoon clears his throat, taking the opportunity to sort of change the topic, because at this rate, with his heart pounding so fast, he’s _really_ going to pass out. He starts up on Jackson’s mocha, keeping his eyes on Jackson.

 

“Fantastic; what flavors?” Jackson says, his attention on Namjoon equally as steady as Namjoon’s on him.

 

“Uh, depends, but I can get another dragon fruit if you want,” Namjoon shrugs, swirling in the chocolate syrup.

 

“I swear, you can read my mind,” Jackson laughs, making his way over to the takeout counter, and Namjoon tries hard not to notice just how neatly Jackson’s bangs fall into place as he moves.

 

“So is that a yes?” Namjoon says, smiling as he finishes off Jackson’s mocha.

 

“You bet,” Jackson says, and then, after a beat, “Am I still forbidden from giving a generous donation for you and your roommate?”

 

“Yep, they’re still a hundred percent free,” Namjoon says back. After he finishes Jackson’s drink, he slides it across the counter and says, “Don’t even think of trying anything.”

 

Jackson takes up his drink, taking a sip almost as soon as he has his fingers around the sleeve. “I’ll think about it,” he says, laughing a little. Namjoon laughs, too, and is about to reach for Mark’s frappuccino cup when Jinyoung reaches past him with what looks exactly like a venti cinnamon roll frappuccino -- er, because that _is_ a venti cinnamon roll frappuccino.

 

“Made it while you two were off in wonderland,” Jinyoung explains, before he moves back to the counter again.

 

Namjoon blinks, watching as Jackson hands the frappuccino to Mark. “Oh. Uh, thanks,” he mumbles (he wasn’t _that_ out of it, was he?).

 

“Jacks, we gotta leave now,” Mark hums, and although he sounds relatively calm, Namjoon wonders how hard he’s trying to cover up his irritation.

 

Much to Namjoon’s disappointment, Jackson nods. “Okay, I got it, just a sec,” he mumbles, taking another sip from his drink. He looks kind of disappointed himself as he shoots Namjoon an apologetic look, and _shit_ Namjoon feels like a criminal with Jackson giving him that look.

 

“Hey, it’s okay. I wouldn’t want you going on probation again,” Namjoon says quickly, in effort to assuage Jackson’s dejection, because Jackson should _not_ look or even _feel_ that upset; _ever_.

 

Jackson’s face lights up at that, the whites of his teeth gleaming. “You’re so sweet,” he laughs, and Namjoon holds his breath. “I’ll see ya later, babe,” he says with one last grin, and then he’s walking out the door.

 

Namjoon waves after him, Jackson’s little endearment of _babe_ echoing in his head, and his entire body feels light, like he could float away and never come back down. He watches as Jackson pulls out of view with Mark, standing motionless behind the counter. It’s when the sounds of both bikes have faded off that Namjoon swears he hears...a third bike? driving off, too.

 

\--

 

The mood feels right -- comfortable, even, with the lights of Suga’s studio dimmed, and the bass of his newest piece rolling beneath his feet. He’s come to appreciate Friday nights the most out of the week, even above the days and nights he has off, and despite the fact that Friday nights are never the calmest (thanks to a certain Kim Namjoon), at eight p.m., it's peaceful -- exactly how Suga likes it.

 

That is, until Jimin slams the door of his studio open, unannounced and _loud_.

 

“Suga!” Jimin half shouts, face tight with apprehension, and on reflex Suga stiffens. Jimin saves that particular expression for emergencies -- to be specific, in instances wherein someone is dying or fatally wounded. “Suga, something came up,” Jimin says, and already, Suga’s cycling through the list of every single possible situation, every possible _something_ , and in the end, the single word screaming in his head is _Namjoon_.

 

“What’s wrong? Has something happened to Namjoon?” Suga says slowly, pronounced. He’s impressed with how even he keeps his tone -- because beneath the surface, his flesh is on fire, sparks coiling in his joints, and he’s fighting back the fear making its way up his spine. Jimin hadn’t said anything regarding Namjoon for the past week, just that he seemed a little tired -- Suga gets the feeling this report is going to be more than a little different than normal.

 

“He -- oh, no, it’s nothing like that. Namjoon’s...fine,” Jimin is frowning, almost at himself, and for a moment, it seems like he doesn’t know whether to believe his own words or not.

 

By just the barest degree, Suga’s burst of anxiety cools. He sits back into his chair, but he’s unable to force the tension out of his muscles. “Oh. Well -- ” Suga inhales. “ -- what’s the problem?” There’s a pause, and Suga takes the opportunity to glare in Jimin’s direction. “And don’t _ever_ barge into my studio like that again; I already have enough trouble dealing with you and Jungkook fucking in my studio,” he says, tone sharp. It’s on those days that Suga is thankful for Jin’s cleanliness.

 

Jimin folds his arms, grinning smugly. “It’s not my fault that couch is so comfortable -- but anyways -- ” he blows his bangs from his forehead. “This is about Namjoon.”

 

Suga stares. Something’s obviously wrong, something involving Namjoon -- but if Namjoon isn’t dying or fatally wounded what could possibly be the issue? Fatigue? Self doubt?

 

“Go on,” Suga says, after a moment of silence. He doesn’t like the anxious behavior that Jimin is exhibiting, his smile absent and his eyes lacking their usual cheer -- it all paints a clear picture that something is _wrong_.

 

“So, uh, you know how you had me posted at Namjoon’s Starbucks?” Jimin starts, reaching a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck.

 

“Yes,” Suga nods, squeezing his mint green pen with the just the right amount of control to prevent it from snapping in two. From what Jimin has already said, it doesn’t seem like Jimin is here to tell him he’s found whoever has been harassing Namjoon, but he _swears_ if that’s the case --

 

“And how you wanted me to watch Namjoon?” Jimin adds on, and Suga really isn’t liking where all of this is headed.

 

“ _Yes_ , Jimin,” Suga says tersely, growing impatient. If something’s wrong with Namjoon, or if he’s been harassed again, Suga’s going to make it his personal mission to beat the asshole that decided to mess with Namjoon into the next century. “Did you find out who was harassing Namjoon?” he asks, because Jimin hasn’t said anything, just shifting his weight. _Fuck_ \-- Suga can imagine someone crowding Namjoon’s space, spitting lies and mockery, and it makes Suga _sick_.

 

And surprisingly, Jimin does not nod in affirmation -- instead, his expression turns owlish, eyes wide as he blinks, and Suga’s blood runs cold.

 

“Jimin,” Suga says, sure to enunciate every syllable. “What happened to Namjoon?”

 

Jimin inhales, exhales, wringing his hands out. For a moment, Suga thinks he’s refusing to respond again, but Jimin inhales once more, and Suga is hardly prepared for what he says next. “So I kind of saw Namjoon talking to a guy from the Seventh and the guy was making him smile super hard, like, as hard as he smiles when he’s with you, and that guy seemed like he was really into Namjoon and I’m more than a little concerned because the guy was making Namjoon look really, really, really happy, and again, kind of like the same happy he gets from you, and I’m just really concerned that there’s something up, because it sure as _hell_ looked like something was up,” Jimin suddenly gushes, and if Suga were being one hundred percent truthful, the only words he caught from any of that was _Namjoon_ , _the Seventh_ , _concerned_ , and the word _happy_.

 

“You -- what?” Suga furrows his eyebrows, because really, it was almost like Jimin was attempting to speak another language.

 

Jimin rolls his eyes. “You’re the one that asked,” he grumbles, and before Suga can send him any verbal death threats, inhales, and says, “I was at Starbucks. And I saw someone hanging out with Namjoon. And I think that someone is very into Namjoon.”

 

Suga doesn’t move a single fucking inch.

 

“I, uh, saw some guy at the counter, he ‘n his buddy, must have been from the Seventh, saw their bikes and stuff, and, well. Namjoon was laughing with him,” Jimin elaborates. “And... _laughing_ , laughing. Not just. Laughing,” Jimin adds, as if he’s worried that Suga doesn’t understand him (which, he does. Fully so, even; denial is a disgusting thing -- one of Suga’s worst enemies).

 

Suga can picture Namjoon laughing, his dimples and the chime of his laughter -- all of it is so _beautiful_ , things that Suga cherishes to no end. “You mean...” he trails off, voice going quiet.

 

Jimin looks at Suga, like he’s expecting a longer response, but when Suga doesn’t give him anything, he swallows, and with a nod, says, “Yup.”

 

“Oh,” Suga says, and he’s never felt so fucking hollow in his life.

 

Jimin leans forward, like he’s trying to get a better look at his face. “Hey, _hey --_ cut that out,” he says, snapping his fingers. And then his arm relaxes. “You really need to go see him. I’m serious.”

 

Suga blinks. “I will. It’s Friday,” he says flatly, but apparently, that’s not enough for Jimin.

 

“Okay, well, not just see him; _talk_ to him. Ask him how he’s doing, how’s school -- you haven’t seen him at all this week,” Jimin says animatedly. It’s true; all Suga’s been doing is text Namjoon, before, during, and after work. It must not have been enough.

 

“He’s...interested in that other guy, isn’t he?” Suga says, and though it’s unsaid he’s certain Jimin will hear the defeated _What’s the point?_ somewhere in his voice.

 

Jimin tilts his head to the side, looking disappointed. “Suga,” Jimin sighs, rolling his eyes. “Namjoon told us he likes you.”

 

And Suga stops breathing. It’s as if those words, hearing them and processing them, has set off an electrical -- no, a _lightning strike_ through his veins, has his bones feeling cold and his skin flushed all at once -- and again, the only word he can comprehend is _Namjoon_.

 

“What,” Suga says, hoarse, because if Jimin is joking, if he’s fooling around, Suga’s locking Jimin out of his fucking house and cutting off his share of the acquisition for an entire month.

 

“Yeah,” Jimin says airily, too casual. “It was the funniest shit ever; on Saturday, he literally lost his filter for ten straight seconds and went on a huge fucking tangent about how _great_ you are, how _good_ you are, and how he’d totally date you,” Jimin says, and Suga can’t believe that he’s _laughing_ as he speaks. “Remember that weird ass scene you walked in on? When Namjoon was all sandy and shit, trying to steal Tae’s phone because Tae was about to call you and tell you about it, and then Namjoon begged us not to tell you -- oh. Well. Oops.”

 

Suga can remember Namjoon grappling with Taehyung’s sweats, sand in his hair and all over his clothes. He can remember how eyes got wide, how he went motionless, gaze snapping over to Suga’s at the sound of his voice. He can remember how _cute_ he looked.

 

“When will you guys stop withholding information from me,” Suga grumbles, looking off to the side, because this is -- this is too much.

 

“Yeah, well, the point is that he thinks he has no chance with you. Like, none. He admires you, and he literally thinks you’re the most wonderful thing in the world, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever measure up enough to be ‘worthy’ for you. And y’know, he’s probably trying to convince himself right now that he should give up, and that’s _precisely_ what you should _not_ let him do,” Jimin babbles, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

 

“Wh -- did you not consider for a single _second_ that _this was important information_ ?” Suga somehow keeps his voice just beneath a yell. He rakes his fingers through his bangs. All the anxiety and the doubt and fear Suga went through -- and _now Jimin tells him_.

 

Jimin shrugs -- _shrugs_ \-- and says, “You can kick our asses later, just go get _his_ ass first -- like, _right now_.”

 

Suga glances over as his computer. “It’s eight forty, if I came in early something would seem off,” he says.

 

Jimin sighs. “Fine. But you _better_ fucking make some sort of move on him. I’m going to fucking mic you up if I have to, and you bet your fucking _ass_ Jin is going to make you wear a camera if you don’t let me.”

 

“Sure,” Suga says sardonically. “I’m going to shower,” he clips, rising from his seat.

 

“Hey,” Jimin says, stepping aside as Suga passes through the doorway. Suga glances at him, and he sees his eyes are serious when he says, “You deserve to be happy. ‘Kay?”

 

Suga scoffs. “Yeah,” he says dismissively. “Now go be with your soulmate, or whatever,” he says, before stepping off toward his bathroom.

 

“Hey! I deserve a thank you! Y’know! For giving up quality cuddle and fuck time with Kookie!” Jimin calls out at him. Suga just keeps walking, rolling his eyes. “Okay, we’re just gonna use your pool for stuff then, thanks!” Jimin adds, and -- god, what the _fuck_ , chlorine will _never_ be enough to cleanse away _that much_ fucking; his pool is going to be contaminated for _years_.

 

He walks away from the studio at a brisk pace, until he’s sure that nobody will hear him -- and then he darts over to his bathroom to clean himself up.

 

Once he’s made it to the comfort of his bathroom, he eyes himself in the mirror. He has to make sure he looks decent, maybe wear one of his Olivine jackets, comb his hair, try some new cologne --

 

Fuck -- Suga’s never been _this_ nitpicky about anything (not even with that one upcoming idol rapper, and that was an absolute _nightmare_ ). But he can’t help but wonder if maybe it would be a good idea to bring some sort of gift for Namjoon, since Suga _is_ going to fill him in on the whole... _gang_ concept, and he has to thank Namjoon for being patient.

 

Or, Suga could just get something for him because he’s _courting_ Namjoon. Yeah -- maybe Suga could try being honest with himself for once.

 

Because Namjoon -- likes him.

 

By the time he reaches his bathroom sink, his mind is already alive with ideas -- he’s going to show Namjoon the ballad he’s writing, he’s going to buy him something to eat, ask him how his week has been --

 

Fuck, _calm down_ , Yoongi, he tells himself, and he almost flinches when he realizes...he’s used his old name. He shakes his head, clenching his jaw; _forget it, forget it_ \--

 

He realizes he’s been staring at his reflection for a good few minutes, and after snapping out of his daze, starts the sink tap (he still has a shower to take) and runs the water over his hands.

 

Suga watches as the water trickles over his knuckles, and the way each droplet, translucent and pristine, rolls of his reminds him of what it means -- what clean hands mean. Suga can’t even think about touching someone as perfect and clean as Namjoon with hands as filthy as his own.

 

Suga has come to compare the situation to playing a grand piano; the keys are white as snow, the ivory warm and pure; moonlight given solid form. One smudge ruins everything -- _everything_ \-- and along with coming to learn to never tarnish a piano, Suga’s learned to never tarnish someone who is clean and beautiful and _good_ with the dirt of his own lies and his past.

 

Before Suga strips away his clothing, he makes sure he’s scrubbed every callous and scar painting his fingers, his palms.

 

\--

 

Namjoon has difficulty getting a pace back up after Jackson leaves. And no, he doesn't spill anything, he doesn't make the wrong order, and he's still capable of pronouncing and spelling everyone's names right (he's not one of those asshole baristas that _deliberately_ fucks up spelling, okay). But he can't actually _focus_ \-- _at all_ \-- his mind keeps racing from subject to subject, and all the while Namjoon’s just trying to live and make coffee.

 

The most pressing issue is that Namjoon doesn't know if tomorrow night -- being with Jackson, going out, doing -- _stuff_ \-- is a date or not. Yeah, Jackson said _Just kidding!!_ but Namjoon’s never met a single soul who just casually says, it's a date! and then laughs and says no, not really.

 

And then there's the fact that Jackson called him _babe_ (twice, even), and Namjoon called him babe _back_. Does that constitute...stuff? Things? A shift in relationship? An indirect confession?

 

Namjoon kind of wants to ask Jinyoung if Jackson just does things like that; if he just grins and calls people _babe_ , and says _it's a date_ , and also if Jackson looks at everyone with those stupid fucking eyes, if he knows just how fucking _hot_ he is.

 

And in fact, Jinyoung does seem intrigued with...whatever Jackson and Namjoon are going to be doing. Namjoon can tell as much from the casual(?) interest he's showing.

 

“You didn't ask him out,” Jinyoung eventually comes to conclude, once he’s finished with an espresso on hand, and also after he’s finished inquiring about how Namjoon was feeling (Jinyoung said he looked a little pink in the face, and Namjoon doesn’t need a mirror or his phone to know he’s right).

 

“No,” Namjoon says. _But I thought about it, and I came maybe a half of a second close to actually asking him out_ , he almost adds, but he keeps his mouth shut, because then Jinyoung is most definitely going to ask him “Have you asked him out yet?” every time Namjoon so much as makes eye contact with him (ugh, Namjoon is getting flashbacks to the whole phone number ordeal).

 

“And he didn't ask _you_ out,” Jinyoung hums then, and, um…

 

“Nnnnn _nno...?_ ” Namjoon says uncertainly, because he's? Not sure? Because yeah, Jackson said he was just kidding, but _again_ \-- he called him _babe_ , and Namjoon doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to think or do; he’s never done anything like -- _this_ \-- relationships, romance -- that sort of thing.

 

There's no _way_ that Jinyoung didn't catch the hesitation in Namjoon’s response, but he (miraculously) doesn't ask for clarification.

 

“You think tomorrow's not a date,” Jinyoung clips.

 

And. Uh.

 

Namjoon just kind of stands in place, finishing off the macchiato he's been working on, before dropping it off at the takeout counter. What does Jinyoung think? Obviously, he heard everything Jackson said to him (did he see how Jackson _looked_ at him, though? How _Mark_ looked at him?), and maybe he can read Jackson better than Namjoon.

 

Namjoon makes the mistake of turning around to face Jinyoung, because Jinyoung is giving him the classic _judging you very hard face_ , and _god_ , Namjoon just wants to _live_.

 

“...You’re serious?” Jinyoung arches a brow, and _why_ does he have to fold his arms, Namjoon isn’t _five_ and Jinyoung isn’t his _mom_ (the biological one, anyways).

 

“Yes, I’m serious, he said he was just teasing me,” Namjoon rolls his eyes, and he’d love nothing more than to just fucking die. Jackson was just messing around. _Just messing around_.

 

Jinyoung’s shoulders slump, and he looks off to the side like he’s being forced to hear some teenage drama about who’s fucking who. “He was teasing you about the basketball; Mark was just being a fucking asshole,” he says, sounding tired (of all this bullshit).

 

Namjoon blinks. And, uh, he just has to process that for a second.

 

“I’m going on a date tomorrow?” he says, sounding _fantastically_ stupid.

 

Jinyoung shoots him possibly the most _done_ look Namjoon’s ever seen him make (which, honestly, is really saying something), and Namjoon kind of regrets opening his mouth. Finally, Jinyoung sighs, turning away. “It can be whatever you want it to be,” he says, nonchalant. And then he puts his hands on his hips. “If you’re really not that sure, just ask him yourself.”

 

Namjoon splutters. “Ask him -- ask him _out_?”

 

Jinyoung groans, “Sure. Fine. Yes. Ask him out. You go do that.”

 

And hey -- _no_. That’s not the answer Namjoon wanted. Jinyoung isn’t supposed to be so lax; he’s supposed to be serious and helpful, like how he usually is. Except, of course, when Namjoon needs that part of him most, he’s not going to get it.

 

“How am I supposed to do _that?_ ” Namjoon says, but then wishes he hadn’t, because Jinyoung literally went over all of that like, an hour ago.

 

“You tell him, ‘hey, I like you, wanna date?’ And then he says ‘fuck yes, I like you, too,’ and you date him,” Jinyoung says flatly, and then his gaze flickers downcast. “Trust me. Dating Jackson has to be one of the easiest things in the world.”

 

“I -- wait, what?” Namjoon is about to tell him that dating for _Namjoon_ is never easy, but then stops, because is Jinyoung implying that…? “Are you saying that...you’ve dated him before?”

 

Jinyoung’s face actually twists up with some kind of hurt, almost like Namjoon’s just hit him. But the emotion vanishes, is replaced with a curl of Jinyoung’s lip. “No, we’ve...never dated,” he says.

 

Namjoon wants to stop him right there, because how would Jinyoung know any of this if he’s never dated Jackson (Namjoon doesn’t even know if Jinyoung’s actually dated anyone, but Namjoon’s not in the mood for getting kicked in the stomach right now for him to ask)? And also, how can Namjoon trust Jinyoung if that’s the case?

 

“So...why are you so sure it’s gonna be easy?” Namjoon says quietly, because he’s pretty sure if he’s too loud Jinyoung’s going to kick his ass.

 

Jinyoung inhales, and Namjoon thinks he can see him struggling to find the right words to use. “That’s -- it’s...sort of something private to Jackson. Or personal, I guess. If you get to know him better, you’ll probably find out why I know,” he says, and that. Doesn’t really make any sense either. But Jinyoung said it’s personal to Jackson, so maybe Namjoon decides it’s probably best if he does find out for himself.

 

“Okay, if...that’s what you want,” Namjoon says after a second. He’s about to go back to cleaning up the counter when Jinyoung starts talking again.

 

“Oh -- ” Jinyoung clears his throat. “ -- and just a quick warning: watch yourself around Mark,” Jinyoung’s saying, and god, if Namjoon hadn’t figured out to do _that_ already.

 

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Namjoon shrugs, remembering how Mark gave him _I’m going to murder you a thousand times over_ eyes, and how he’d treated him the first time they spoke (it was barely a conversation, but they... _kind of_ exchanged words).

 

Jinyoung frowns, folding his arms again. “Not just that. I mean be _careful_ \-- he can do a lot more than just talk shit,” he sighs, and then his expression hardens. “And don’t let him scare you off of Jackson. Mark’s…”

 

A dick? An asshat? A complete fucking bastard that won’t let Namjoon live?

 

“...rude?” Namjoon finishes off, because Jinyoung’s trailed off.

 

Jinyoung blinks, snorts. “It’s -- it’s more than that,” he says. “Just be careful around him.”

 

And Namjoon had already resolved to keep his guard up around Mark, but something about Jinyoung’s words makes his spine a little stiff, his skin a little colder.

 

\--

 

Long after Jinyoung’s shift’s ended, Namjoon finds himself staring down at his phone.

 

He’s had plenty of time to think about Jackson, about the possibility of them being...a thing; an _item_ ; perfect platinum blonde hair, alongside Namjoon’s own mess of blonde bangs, darkening at the roots. And, upon speculation, Namjoon (thinks he’s) has finally come down to picking the best route for all of -- this.

 

His text to Jackson is typed up in the message box, grammatical errors and all of his inelegance, and it basically says, _I’m interested, I think you’re interested too, so let’s date and shit_ , and his thumb is just beginning to move toward the send button, when he hears the sound of Suga’s motorcycle.

 

Namjoon glances over at the time; it’s ten twenty eight. It’s not like he’s really going to complain about Suga being here two minutes early, but then --

 

 _Fuck_.

 

Namjoon is in the middle of raising a smile to his lips when he sees Suga in some expensive as fuck jacket (is that the same one Suga wore when they first met? Olivine brand?), and he suddenly -- _can’t_ \-- _breathe_ \--

 

Or even think, for that matter, because Suga’s pushing his bangs back, fingers combing through mint locks, and it just looks so fucking _casual_ and _natural_ and _real fucking hot_ that Namjoon feels like he’s in the presence of a god (holy shit, are those _skinny jeans?_ ).

 

Namjoon pockets his phone; it can’t hurt too much to put off asking Jackson out for a few minutes longer. Namjoon -- Namjoon has time.

 

“Hi,” Namjoon greets, clearing his throat as Suga stops walking, and his hands are shoved into his pockets. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” Which is true, in the literal sense, but they’ve been texting all week, so it’s not like this is the first time he’s said anything to him since Saturday (although, Namjoon isn’t going to deny that he wishes he could have been seeing his face, that he could _be_ with him, and not just talk over text).

 

Suga blinks. “Work is shit,” he says eloquently, seriously, and Namjoon finds himself laughing (and also crying, because when did Suga cursing become so fucking _hot_?) and smiling like a dumbass, but he quiets down quickly, biting at his lip.

 

“You want your usual?” Namjoon says, and it’s getting real difficult to ignore how good Suga looks; his whole presence just _screams_ ethereal, godly. And he’s moving his hand around in his jacket pocket; is he looking for something?.

 

“Yeah,” Suga nods, and when he pulls his hand out of his pocket, Namjoon sees he must have just been looking for money (or...no, looks like there’s something in his pocket still).

 

As Namjoon’s entering his order, he notices that Suga’s still standing at the counter. He kind of looks like he wants to say something, but Namjoon doesn’t pry (also, he’s kind of getting distracted; why does it feel like Suga’s...different? _Aside_ from the fact that he looks like the god of everything good and great in the world).

 

“How are you tonight?” Suga suddenly asks, right when Namjoon is turning away to start his order, cup in hand.

 

“Uh, fine,” Namjoon swallows. But he starts thinking of Jackson, though, the whole _babe_ thing and the _date_ thing, and then he’s not so sure if tonight’s really fine. And then he starts thinking of Suga, his fucking _crush_ , standing right in front of him, and how he’s starting to think of asking _him_ out, too, and that’s just. Fucking sad. Namjoon feels like shit. “You?” he asks, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as shaky as he thinks it does.

 

“Fine,” Suga says airily. “I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

 

And _fffucck_! What? The fuck? Suga? Thinking about Namjoon? _All week?_ Namjoon almost drops his fucking cup as he slots it into place, because _what does this mean_ \--

 

“I've wanted to tell you about Saturday,” Suga adds on, and Namjoon has to bite down on his tongue to keep an _Oh_ from slipping out -- but Saturday. Yeah. Saturday. That's important, too.

 

“Oh, yeah, is Taehyung okay now?” Namjoon says, moving across the counter with Suga's drink cup. Well, Namjoon _did_ see Taehyung early on this week, and it sure _seemed_ like he was okay. You have to be in at least sort of healthy condition to have intense make outs with your boyfriend. At least, Namjoon...assumes.

 

“Yeah, he's on his feet,” Suga nods, voice a little quiet. “If you want, I can explain everything to you right now.”

 

“Sure,” Namjoon says with a smile. He wonders if this is sensitive information, because hey, it _is_ gang business, and he doesn't even know if Suga should be telling him anything. And then it strikes him; maybe -- maybe Suga just trusts Namjoon enough.

 

“You know about the gang, don't you?” Suga says, after a second.

 

“Yeah, Taehyung, er, told me about it,” Namjoon says. _And also I told Taehyung and Jin and Jimin and Jungkook about how I have a crush on you_ , he thinks, and he tries desperately not to blush at the thought.

 

Suga sniffs, and Namjoon thinks he can see him looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “Tae was hurt last week, while he was running a job on Friday,” he says quietly, and it’s Namjoon thinks it’s loud enough for only him to hear it.

 

Namjoon blinks. “Last Friday? When you and Jimin were here?”

 

Suga nods, hands stuck in his pockets again. “Yeah. That's why we had to leave early.” And Namjoon remembers Jimin telling Suga they were _needed back at the site_ \-- that must have been some kind of emergency. An emergency where someone got fucked up, maybe?

 

“What happened?” Namjoon says, before he realizes that maybe that information is also very sensitive. And also, should Namjoon even be asking questions (Suga might think he's trying to pry into his personal affairs)? Maybe he should just keep his mouth shut and let Suga tell him whatever _he_ wants to tell Namjoon; Namjoon shouldn't be poking around for extra info. “Uh, you don't have to answer that, I didn’t mean to be nosy. Um. Sorry,” he adds, before Suga can respond.

 

Suga blinks, parting his lips and looking surprised. “No, don't be. You deserve to know,” he says, soft, and he looks straight at Namjoon when he speaks. Namjoon swallows.

 

“Tae was running maintenance. We had a territorial acquisition recently; I sent him, Jin, and Jungkook to make it official. One of the other guys disagreed on the terms, and it got rough,” Suga says, just as Namjoon’s beginning to add the whipped cream to his frappuccino. Suga moves his hands around in his pockets again, looking to the side as he says, “That's how Tae got stitches. Knife fight.”

 

Namjoon goes cold. Because he can barely tolerate a _paper cut_ ; how the hell could Taehyung have been laughing and running around literally _one day_ after he’d been injured? And then Namjoon wonders just how badly Taehyung was actually hurt -- Jungkook and Jin were wearing sweatshirts to cover up their injuries, but Taehyung was wearing a sweatshirt _and_ sweatpants. He almost shrinks at the thought of how many cuts or bruises Taehyung could have been hiding.

 

“I'm glad you're okay,” Namjoon swallows, because that could have been Suga, cut up and bearing stitches and scars. What if Suga had been _there_ , instead of _here_ , buying his usual citrus green tea frappuccino? Namjoon looks over Suga’s skin, and he breathes in relief when he finds there aren’t any (visible?) bruises or cuts. In fact, Suga’s skin is flawless; milky pale (healthy, though; Suga definitely looks healthy), and Namjoon wonders how it’d feel if he just reached out and --

 

Er, how about no.

 

“Don’t worry about me,” Suga says dismissively, and haha, funny -- Namjoon doubts he’s even able to not _think_ about him.

 

And Namjoon’s about to tell him he’s _no, stop being so nice, let me care for you and worry for you_ , but he keeps his mouth shut as he twists a lid onto Suga’s drink. “I’m allowed to be anxious, okay? It’s my real, full-time job,” he says instead, leaving out the _anxious about_ you. He reaches across the takeout counter to hand him his drink, and he must not be paying very much attention, because he ends up shoving it into Suga’s hand, who was already moving to take the drink from Namjoon.

 

And. Ah. Those are Suga’s fingers.

 

Namjoon kind of locks up, because...Suga’s hands feel nice? And it’s been a while since he’s felt them -- they’re not smooth or soft, and they’re _definitely_ not delicate; they’re a little rough -- Namjoon can feel the dryness of his skin and it feels...real. Natural. _Familiar_. Namjoon likes it.

 

“Thanks, then,” Suga says after a second, and when he pulls out of Namjoon’s reach, it’s like his hands are numb, and his heart is beating so fucking _loud_ , like he’s at a hip hop concert for the first time, like he’s at the climax of a good movie and he doesn’t know what the fuck’s gonna happen next.

 

“I’ve been wanting to thank you for being...understanding. And patient,” Suga says then, and his free hand is back in his pocket. Namjoon watches quietly, and he realizes Suga’s...giving him something? Which is not okay, because now Namjoon is never, _ever_ going to be able to repay him, goddamnit Suga --

 

“Um, it’s no problem, you really don’t need to do anything. I mean, i-it’s no big deal, uh, if you ever need me to keep quiet, cause it’s your life, and I’m kind of like an outsider,” Namjoon says quickly, because that better not be something extremely fucking expensive or Namjoon’s gonna -- oh.

 

“Here,” Suga is holding out his gift to Namjoon already, and -- uh, maybe an expensive thing would have been better because _what. The fuck is Namjoon gonna do with this._

 

Namjoon peers down at the box of pocky, seeing that it’s strawberry flavored. And yes, great, strawberry is amazing, but it’s fucking _pocky_ \-- the shit Hoseok used to buy for his boyfriend in junior year of highschool to play that stupid kissing game that vaguely reminded Namjoon of Lady and the Tramp (“It’s like, a Japanese thing. When you date someone again, you should try it,” Hoseok had said. “Fuck no I won’t, I don’t have a food kink,” Namjoon had said back).

 

“I wasn’t sure what you’d want, but it’s something to eat,” Suga says, as Namjoon’s reaching out to grab it. “I know you like strawberry, though so -- oh. Do you...not want it?” Suga is suddenly saying, and Namjoon realizes he’s gaping like a fucking idiot.

 

“No, no! It’s fine,” Namjoon almost squawks (no it’s not; it’s not fine. Nothing is fine, everything is spinning and Namjoon wants to _die_ ), quickly taking the box from Suga’s hand. Quick, quick, gotta assure Suga everything’s okay, that Namjoon’s not a fucking asshole -- “I’m just...surprised?” _Fuck_.

 

For a split second Namjoon kind of wishes Jinyoung was here (incredible, Namjoon knows. But just _listen, okay --_ ), to see what Namjoon dies over every day, and also so he could give him advice on how to die a little less than he normally does, because Namjoon cannot handle this. At least, not very well.

 

“I like strawberry stuff, it’s just,” Namjoon says, mouth dry. Is this Suga’s invitation...to do...the stupid fucking kissing game (not sure if he should call it stupid if it’s with Suga, though) ...because if it is… “Um...if you want...we can -- uh, I mean, I s-should finish my work, and then -- we -- maybe -- ”

 

Namjoon trails off, and he must be blushing all around his face and ears and neck, and thank god Suga speaks up. “You can’t eat now? You must be hungry, though,” he says, looking a little confused, frowning.

 

“Wait,” Namjoon says, kind of blankly.

 

“What is it?” Suga says, hand finally dropping back to his side.

 

Namjoon swallows. “You don’t...know about pocky?” he says, pitch rising.

 

Suga glances down at the box in Namjoon’s hand, before he meets Namjoon’s gaze again. “You eat it?” he says, tone just barely lilting.

 

“Oh,” Namjoon says, squeezing the box lightly. “Oh. It’s nothing. I was thinking of s-something else.” Which is a _lie_ , because Namjoon was thinking of making out with Suga, thinking of Suga holding him by the back of his neck to pull him closer, and now Namjoon feels disgusted with himself because. He shouldn’t do that. He already thought about making out with Jackson earlier. Namjoon feels like he’s playing around with fire, only he isn’t the only one who could get burned.

 

“Thanks; I’m, um, surprised you remembered I like strawberry,” Namjoon says, just barely avoiding a stutter, before he opens up the box, tearing open the bag inside.  _Pocky, Namjoon_ , he tells himself silently, _Suga wasn’t asking to make out -- probably -- maybe --_

 

Suga blinks. “Of course I remember the things you like,” he says, smirking slightly, and duh, Namjoon should have guessed he would have known; Suga’s a fucking genius.

 

“I guess I’m lucky then; not everyone gets to have someone as attentive as you in their life,” Namjoon smiles back, pulling out one of the pocky sticks and popping it in his mouth. “I dunno what I even did to deserve your attention. I really wish I could repay you.”

 

Suga stares at Namjoon, silent, kind of like the first time Namjoon got off his bike and pulled Suga’s helmet off, and Namjoon must have something on his face. He reaches up to feel for anything when Suga clears his throat.

 

“You,” Suga starts, coughing into his knuckles. “You really want to make it up to me?”

 

Namjoon swallows down his pocky. “Definitely. Y’know, because, aside from the fact I’m in-fucking-debted to you, I love spending time with you.”

 

Suga coughs lightly, and Namjoon’s suddenly worried he’s swallowed spit down the wrong pipe. “So. I guess,” he says, “If you want to do anything, tomorrow I’m free.”

 

“Su -- ” Namjoon stops himself. He can’t. He’s got Jackson, whom he’s already promised he’d go out with. It makes him feel... _guilty_ , about liking Suga, but at the same time, it has him buzzed with excitement, because he’s going to be out with Jackson afterward, and Namjoon doesn’t know what to make of himself (other than call himself stupid). “I’m sorry, I actually, uh, have plans tomorrow.”

 

Suga doesn’t move, just says, “Oh,” and even though Suga doesn’t show any emotional reaction, Namjoon feels like utter shit for turning him down, and --

 

“B-but if you’re good on Sunday, we could do...whatever,” Namjoon blurts out quickly. Maybe...maybe he can establish whatever he has going with Jackson tomorrow, and then Sunday will (emotionally) be a piece of cake. Maybe then his soul can finally be at peace.

 

Suga moves his free hand into his pocket. “Ah. Sure, I’m available then,” he nods, and Namjoon almost sighs aloud in relief.

 

“Are you going to be with Hoseok tomorrow?” Suga’s suddenly inquiring. “I met him this week; Tae brought him over for lunch. Hoseok was babying him the whole time, I think more than Jin usually does,” he adds, and he’s actually smiling when he says it, laughing a little, and Namjoon could _die_ , because he looks so amazing, so _perfect_ , with the whites of his teeth showing, and even some of his gums peeking into view. “Has he been neglecting you? Tae’s been with him for the whole damn week.”

 

And...Namjoon’s heart does a fucking swan dive right into the deep end of the pool of misery and self-loathing.

 

Because Namjoon suddenly doesn’t know if he wants to call his date with Jackson a date. Not with Suga looking so expectant, not with Suga standing in front of him, not with _Suga_. But then, no, what the fuck, it is a date, because Jackson called him babe and Namjoon called him babe back, and Namjoon had that conversation with Jinyoung, and he also almost passed out looking at Jackson’s biceps, and --

 

“I,” Namjoon starts, feeling a little dizzy. “I’m actually going to be out with another friend,” he says, feeling awful as the words tumble out (for more than just one reason).

 

Suga nods, taking a sip from his drink. “I see. College friend?”

 

Namjoon literally feels like there’s ice in his skin. “Er, yeah,” he says, and giving a name can’t hurt, right…? And besides, it’s probably best to be honest and clear. “His name’s Jackson. I, uh, met him here, actually, but we go to the same college.”

 

“Oh,” Suga says, a little softly, and somehow, it seems heavier than before. Namjoon can’t tell what he’s thinking, but it feels like...maybe it wasn’t the best idea to tell him who Jackson was.

 

And then it hits him: what if Suga and Jackson are in rival gangs? They’re sure as hell not from the same one, meaning that they could very well be enemies (if that’s how it works with gangs). What if he’s offended Suga in some sort of way, by being with Jackson.

 

“Uh, I'm sorry, is it bad that I know someone from another gang?” Namjoon lets the apology fall out. Shit, has he fucked up?

 

Suga's expression softens, and he shakes his mint bangs to the side. “No, there's...no rule against it, if that's what you were thinking,” he says, and Namjoon praises god, because that probably would have been Really Bad™ if there was some sort of code that stated, ‘Thou shalt befriend people from one gang and one gang only.’

 

“Oh, okay,” Namjoon breathes, reaching for another pocky. At least now he knows he's not fucking up by dating(?) someone from one gang and crushing on someone ( _the leader_ ) from another. Actually, screw fucking up the gangs; Namjoon feels like he's fucked _himself_ up pretty bad.

 

Namjoon looks up at Suga, and it's supposed to be just a glance, a little peek up to return eye contact, but Namjoon realizes Suga's looking straight back at him, and it's kind of like they’re staring into each other's fucking souls. Like, no joke -- in a fifth of a second, Namjoon’s looked over Suga’s minty hair, the soft curve of his nose, the pink of his lips and also he's mentally kicked himself.

 

Namjoon holds his breath.

 

“So. I'll see you on Sunday,” Suga clears his throat, ducking his head to brush his bangs aside, and Namjoon exhales.

 

“Yep. Just give me a call. Or, um, text,” Namjoon affirms, eyes still on Suga.

 

“Yeah,” Suga nods, taking a sip from his drink. And then he starts to turn away, but he’s looking at Namjoon again when he says, “Goodnight, Namjoon.” And then he’s out the door and driving off.

 

Namjoon stares blankly at the empty spot Suga left behind, because what the fuck? Just happened? Everything went by so fast, but so slow at the same time and Namjoon’s head is sort of spinning and all he can do is squeeze the box of pocky in his right hand.

 

When he returns to the apartment, Hoseok is absent for a dance crew dinner (a really late one, at that), meaning he’s free to yell at the ceiling, shout at the walls and scream into his pillow without having Hoseok question his state of health. The neighbors might have their qualms, but _hey_ , Namjoon is _stressed_.

 

“Why can’t we all just date each other?” Namjoon says to no one, face stuffed into his pillow. That’d just be fucking radical.

 

\--

 

Unsurprisingly, Suga’s house isn’t empty by the time he returns.

 

Jin has taken up residence on the couch, reading some short story with his legs folded neatly, and Taehyung is on his side, asleep and snoring lightly. Suga doesn’t know what had possessed him to give either of them the passcode to his house when he had purchased this place.

 

Suga’s tempted to tell the both of them that they’re capable adults, meaning they can go live on their own at their own place, but decides it’s getting a little late to force anyone out of his house (Jimin and Jungkook _better_ not be here). It’s getting closer to midnight, and Suga isn’t interested in putting either of his friends in danger just because they’re too lazy to actually _go home_.

 

“Tae’s asleep?” Suga asks, sitting down at Jin’s side.

 

Jin glances up at Suga, then to Taehyung. He shrugs. “Probably. Spent all day after lunch with Hoseok. So.”

 

Suga suppresses any noises of disgust rising up in his throat, settling for a snort. “Of course,” he clips watching Taehyung fidget in the corner of his eye.

 

Jin lays his book facedown onto the glass coffee table in front of him, turning to face Suga. “So how did it go?” he asks cheerily, hands folded in his lap.

 

“Fine,” Suga says, but really, he’s...not so sure. The good thing Suga’s taken away from his conversation with Namjoon (aside from just seeing Namjoon; that itself is absolutely wonderful) is that on Sunday, they’ll be free to do anything. Maybe have dinner, even, eat out somewhere, but then...wouldn’t that be considered a date, and also completely fucking obvious? “I bought him food. Like you suggested,” he decides is the best response.

 

Jin beams. “Great! What’d you get him? I hope you didn’t buy him something expensive; all he really needed was a snack.”

 

“I bought him pocky, but he seemed...bothered, by something about it,” Suga sighs, frowning slightly. Maybe it makes some people sick, or maybe Namjoon just wasn’t hungry. But it’s just a cracker dipped in flavored cream (strawberry flavored; Suga knew that Namjoon liked strawberry), so...what’s the big deal? “Is there something wrong with buying someone pocky?” he says slowly, because he’s eaten pocky before, but he’s never had any...problems with the snack.

 

Jin doesn’t say anything for a second, just looks at Suga funny. “Wait, you…” he trails off, like he’s trying to remember something.

 

Suga snorts. “That’s exactly what Namjoon did, now tell me what the fuck is wrong with buying pocky for someone.”

 

Jin sits up straighter at that, and he’s smiling a little wider. “Well. You should know that buying pocky is sort of the equivalent to asking someone that you like if they want to make out with you.”

 

And -- oh. _Fuck._

 

“What,” Suga deadpans, looking Jin right in the eye. Jin had better not be joking around, because _this isn’t funny, not at all_. “If you’re lying to me, I’m going to ban you from setting a single fucking foot in my goddamn house for the whole next week,” he says flatly.

 

Jin gives a nonchalant shrug. “I mean, any normal high schooler would know; you could ask one of them.”

 

And Suga’s about to tell him he doesn’t even know any high schoolers, when he hears Taehyung garbling off the side. “Hobi asked me if I wanted to do it once; it’s really cute,” he slurs, sounding exhausted.

 

Suga clenches his jaw; this is bad, _this is bad._ Of course the one fucking thing Suga buys for Namjoon is a fucking ‘make out with me’ invitation. It wouldn’t have killed him to have done just a little research before he bought that stupid fucking box of crackers.

 

“So the important thing is, did he like it?” Jin says to Suga, and Suga just stares at him. After a couple of seconds, Jin tilts his head to the side (probably noticing how red Suga’s ears are) and scoots a little closer.

 

“Aw, hey, it’s okay,” Jin is cooing, rubbing Suga’s back. Suga wants to tell him that it is _not_ okay, what if Namjoon is disgusted by him? But Jin is leaning a little closer and he whispers, “So, are you gonna buy him more?”

 

“No,” Suga says instantly, trying to cover up his mortification with irritation.

 

And Jin quirks his mouth to the side, brows raised. “Well, I mean, you _do_ want to make out with him, though, don’t you? I mean, I’m pretty sure you told me you wanted to kiss him...like, seven times. In the past three days,” he says breezily.

 

Suga groans, letting his head fall into one of his hands; he has the most _useless_ friends on the planet. “Fuck,” he says, because -- because Jin’s right.

 

Apparently, though, Jin isn’t finished, because he keeps going on. “And that you also wanted to sweep him off his feet and hold his hand and hug him from behind, and then you told me you really, _really_ want to -- ”

 

“ _No_ .” Suga whips his head up to look Jin dead in the eye, and he can already feel his face burning even hotter. Why the fuck did Suga think he could trust him with _that_ information?

 

“Suga, you’re one of the most sexual people on the planet, and you haven't slept with anyone lately; it's perfectly understandable that you want to fuck him,” Jin sighs, moving his hand to Suga's shoulder, and Suga is feeling ready to just toss him right over the couch -- it wouldn't be difficult. “And also, you like him a lot, so.”

 

“Stop. Right now,” Suga says sternly, but he’s already thinking of kissing Namjoon, on the mouth, _hard,_ thinks of Namjoon falling back on his bed, flushed and panting and maybe moaning Suga's name, and his heart's pounding, his head's spinning.

 

“I speak only of the truth,” Jin says solemnly, giving Suga's shoulder a light squeeze.

 

“I'm with Jin on this one,” Taehyung yawns from the side.

 

“I'm going to shower.” Suga stands abruptly. He's had enough bullshit for five minutes.

 

Suga can hear Taehyung snickering as he makes his way to the steps. “Oh, come _on_ , all Jin said was _fuck him_ ,” he says, and god -- _fucking_ \-- Suga’s thinking of pushing Namjoon up against a wall, rubbing his thighs, leg between his, and most importantly, of Namjoon crying Suga’s name out and _why_ \--

 

“Yeah, you can go fuck yourself,” Suga bites out as he gets a foot on the first step, and he's increasingly aware of the heat in his skin, the strain in his pants. He's going to murder Taehyung when he comes back out.

 

“I had Hobi take care of that,” Taehyung calls out, and then he hears him add, “Wait, uh, I mean -- fuck.”

 

Suga storms up the stairs, just barely catching Jin’s sigh of, “You still can't walk, can you?” and he can barely flush the image of Namjoon lying on his bed, fucked out, breathing heavy, and too sore to even stand. Once he reaches his bathroom, he slams his door shut, but it doesn't help clear his head in the slightest.

 

\--

 

Namjoon sleeps in again, but this time he has the time _and_ the address for Jackson’s game.

 

When he gets up from bed, it’s dead quiet, and he doesn’t smell any food. Typically, that’s a clear sign that Hoseok isn’t home, but when he’s crossing the living room to get to the kitchen, he finds Hobi sprawled across the couch (his face is stuffed into the cushions; that’s why Namjoon couldn’t hear him snoring).

 

Namjoon decides he’ll let Hobi sleep in, because he’s a nice person and a great friend, but also because he remembers Hobi telling him he’d fucked Taehyung into next week (read: fucked Taehyung so fucking hard he couldn’t ride his bike home, which explains the familiar bike parked in the parking lot). That kind of thing must be...tiring?

 

Hoseok’s still asleep by the time Namjoon’s getting ready to go to Jackson’s game, so Namjoon leaves a sticky note on his ear saying _going out for the afternoon dunno how long i'll be_ , and then he adds another sticky with _sleep well_ . He starts wondering how much energy sex actually requires, because honestly, Hoseok’s been passed out for the whole morning (he _was_ up at midnight, though, so maybe that has something to do with his fatigue). He drapes a blanket over him before he finally leaves for his car.

 

When Namjoon’s in his car, his phone buzzes, and no, his heart does _not_ pound when he sees it’s Jackson.

 

_From ; J-Flawless ; 2:03 p.m._

_hhey theres gonna b traffic prob so idk if u wanna leave early but im just givin u a heads up_

 

And then Namjoon gets a snapchat of Jackson on the bus, where he’s filming his teammates around him who are all asleep (except for Zitao, who smacks Jackson’s phone out of his hand when the camera pans over to his face).

 

Namjoon doesn’t actually run into too much traffic, but the drive is still longer than usual. He keeps hearing his phone buzz (probably all snapchats from Jackson), but because he doesn’t want to die, he keeps his phone far away on the passenger seat.

 

The college campus is a little smaller than the last one Jackson played at, kind of looks like a private college, and Namjoon easily finds his way to the gym (there are a _lot_ of people in line to see the game, like, what the heck).

 

This time, when Namjoon gets to the front, he’s feeling a little more comfortable with himself when he gives Jackson’s password, and for the first time, the usher doesn’t look at him like he’s come from another planet. Instead, she just nods and gestures for him to go inside, but just as Namjoon passes her, he can hear her whisper to the girl at her side, “ _I think that’s the guy Jackson said was really cute_ ,” and Namjoon speedwalks right into the gym, feeling his face turn pink.

 

Jackson’s already mid-warm-up when Namjoon steps into the gym, babbling to Zitao in lightning fast Mandarin while making a free throw. Namjoon means to make a straight line for the bleachers, sit down and enjoy the game (and also Jackson), but of course, his stupid eyes get stuck watching Jackson laugh something in Zitao’s direction, watching him flip his hair to the side and _wow_ his smile looks really bright today --

 

“Hey, Namjoon!” Jackson’s suddenly shouting in his direction, waving, and Namjoon almost has to slap himself to refocus. Jackson’s grinning, already walking in Namjoon’s direction, and Namjoon tightens his grip on his laptop bag.

 

“Glad you’re here! Traffic wasn’t too bad, I guess?” Jackson is chirping, and already Namjoon can feel his enthusiasm permeating the air and seeping into his skin.

 

“Nah, nothing awful,” Namjoon shakes his head. He forces his eyes up, because no, he’s _not_ that interested in Jackson’s (new, shiny black) lip piercing, and he sure as _hell_ isn’t interested in Jackson’s lips.

 

“Great! Would hate to miss you at another game,” Jackson says gleefully. The memory of Mark telling Namjoon to _put more effort into it_ just barely bubbles up, and Namjoon laughs nervously.

 

“Hey, it was work. I don’t control when people get sick,” Namjoon folds his arms, but he knows Jackson’s not actually being serious.

 

Jackson scrunches his nose up. “But, like, you’re my good luck charm. I can’t win without you,” he complains, and if that isn’t a lie (because Jackson hasn’t lost any of his games yet, so…?).

 

“You haven’t lost a single game this season,” Namjoon laughs, and he’s trying his best to fight down the heat rising up the back of his neck, because the things that Jackson says; _god_.

 

At this, Jackson shrugs, rolling his eyes. “Well, I only win, like, half of the game. It doesn’t feel like a full win without you cheering from the stands,” he sighs, casual, as if that’s something people say all the time. And...maybe it is? For Jackson?

 

Namjoon’s about to tell him that he’ll always be with him in spirit, when Zitao yells at Jackson to _get the fuck back to practice_. Jackson shoots Namjoon an apologetic look, with those pretty eyes, and Namjoon almost chokes, totally unprepared.

 

“Gotta go! Enjoy the game,” Jackson says, leaving Namjoon with a wink that may have made Namjoon’s choke a little.

 

Namjoon takes a seat in the front, watching the practice and then the first half, grinning so hard his face hurts. It's been awhile since he's seen Jackson jumping around like an idiot (read: and expert), flailing his arms and yelling from all the way across the court. And if Namjoon didn't know better, it's almost like Jackson's actually...trying harder than normal. But then again, Namjoon’s only seen a handful of games, so it's probably just his imagination.

 

After the first half, Jackson doesn't come over, but as soon as the buzzer rings, his eyes snap over to Namjoon’s, and Namjoon feels his heart thud up against his chest. Because Jackson's got the Hollywood, superstar smile and he's waving, looking at Namjoon like _he's_ the celebrity, and not the other way around. And then one of his teammates yanks him by his jersey sleeve and pulls him toward where their water bottles are.

 

About fifteen minutes into the second half, when the crowd's alive with whistling and clapping, and Jackson makes the most _incredible_ three pointer, Namjoon (accidentally) yells out Jackson's name at the top of his lungs. Thankfully, there are a couple of other kids in the bleachers that scream out “ _Yeah, Jackson_!!” a whole lot louder than Namjoon, but it doesn't really stop the embarrassment from flooding his skin. Is Namjoon supposed to yell this loud? Is he qualified to be this pumped about Jackson throwing a fucking ball into a net?

 

Namjoon tries it again when Jackson jumps to make a dunk, and as soon as Jackson's name leaves his lips, he swears he sees Jackson grin a little wider. Namjoon smiles back, even as Jackson turns, back facing him (god, is this what it's like to watch your boyfriend play sports?).

 

They win, again, by a perfect margin of fifty points, and Namjoon takes his eyes off of Jackson for literally two seconds to gather his stuff, when he turns to find Jackson bounding over towards him in all of his sweaty (and divine) glory.

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jackson is saying, pushing his platinum blonde bangs out of his eyes. “You enjoy the game? It’s always nice to win big like this. Swear to god it was louder than usual. Bet you liked my slam dunk; I felt so much more _alive_ with you watching,” he starts without warning (he’s breathing so hard Namjoon’s afraid he’s going to pass out), and Namjoon blinks at the last little detail.

 

“You better have; I drove all the way out here just to see you,” Namjoon sniffs, trying very hard not to stare at Jackson’s mouth as he uncaps his water bottle and throws his head back (he’s not even _drinking it_ ; he’s just splashing it all over his face).

 

Jackson lowers his water bottle, grinning wide at Namjoon. “Aw, you’re so sweet, babe,” he coos, and Namjoon swallows, because _fuck_.

 

“So, uh, did you want to leave right now? For, um,” Namjoon pauses, and he’s can hear the word _date_ swimming around in the air, but instead says, “The thing?”

 

Jackson screws the cap of his water bottle back on, nodding, and pulls the towel hanging over his shoulder off to dry his face. “Yup, sounds good. And, I, uh, don’t have my bike with me, I kinda rode here on the team bus,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck (he has no right to look that cute. _None_ ). “‘S it okay if I ride with you?”

 

“Yeah, sure. The cupcakes are waiting for you in the front seat,” Namjoon says, turning to head for the entrance. Namjoon doesn’t expect Jackson to sling his arm over shoulder just then, and he certainly doesn’t expect him to press right up next to him, and he shoves down a yelp of surprise (but, sadly, lets out a noise that sounds too similar to a dying deer’s sob).

 

“Hey, you’re all sweaty; go clean yourself up,” Namjoon grumbles, but he doesn’t dare push Jackson away (because _hello biceps_ ).

 

“ _Hey_ , sweat is a sign of having a good time,” Jackson shoots back, not making a single move to pull away, and Namjoon tries real hard not to think on the possible implications of that statement (Hoseok would be laughing so fucking hard if he was here).

 

When they get to Namjoon’s car, Jackson attacks his cupcake after a quick, “Can I eat it now?”, and Namjoon barely gets in a nod before Jackson starts stuffing the dragon fruit cupcake down his throat.

 

“Oh, wait,” Jackson mumbles, wiping his mouth and moving his sports bag on the floor between his legs. Namjoon starts up his car, pausing to look at Jackson, who continues to say, “Where the fuck are we even going?”

 

Namjoon opens his mouth to say, “Out to eat, duh,” but that doesn’t exactly satisfy the question.

 

“Uh, I guess we could just go wherever,” Namjoon shrugs, starting to back out. He quickly realizes that _shit_ he was vague as hell, but before he can list any options, Jackson’s begins to answer.

 

Jackson hums aloud, like he’s thinking. “You wanna go just buy some shit? Like, back by our university? Only if you’re not hungry for dinner, or anything. But I am feeling a calling for sweets right now, so...”

 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Namjoon says, and silently thanks Jackson for sparing his wallet (Namjoon isn’t broke, but he’s not rich, okay?).

 

They end up just pulling up at the downtown outlets (Jackson was talking to Namjoon like there was no tomorrow the _entire drive_ , about literally everything), and Jackson pulls him around store to store. It’s all mostly window shopping, but when they stop by a chocolate store, Jackson announces his need for sweets yet again, and buys fifteen different kinds of truffles (and, of course, doesn’t let Namjoon pay).

 

“For the record, it’s the weekend, I’ve just won a basketball game, and now I’m here with you, so no diet is gonna stop me from getting this shit and eating it,” Jackson tells Namjoon at the register, already munching on a piece of chocolate.

 

“Relax; I’m not gonna bust your ass for eating candy,” Namjoon rolls his eyes, snatching at one of the chocolates after Jackson’s paid.

 

They make a run (really; Jackson never seems to slow down) around the outlets, buying less than healthy snacks, and Namjoon endures (read: loves) all the shitty jokes Jackson makes after every purchase. Eventually, once Jackson’s amassed a collection of fruity candies and chocolate bars, they opt for a break (because Jackson makes it clear that they’re _definitely not done yet_ ) at one of the empty tables at the food court.

 

“Okay, at this point, all I can say is fuck diets,” Jackson breathes, kicking back in his chair.

 

Namjoon glances down at the bag of gummies set on the table, watching as Jackson takes the bag up, tears the corner off, and pops one of the gummies into his mouth. “I mean, it never hurt anyone to take a break every now and then,” Namjoon shrugs, biting at his chocolate kiss.

 

Jackson laughs, gnawing on the end of a pink gummy. “Well, as long as I work this all off -- and I’m going to, I swear! But, like -- ” he pauses, picking at the bag of gummies. “ _Indulgence_ . I’m so fucking _weak_ to it -- I’m terrible with holding out on shit.”

 

Namjoon frowns, gaze flickering over to Jackson’s fingers as he licks what must be sugar off of his fingertip. “Cravings suck ass,” Namjoon sighs (he knows best that cravings suck -- he’s a _college student_ , for god’s sake).

 

Jackson smirks, and he looks right at Namjoon as stuffs two more gummies into his mouth -- one violet, the other green. “Believe me, I know,” he says, grinning wide as he chews, and Namjoon blinks. Jackson suddenly leans forward (look at his _face_ , Namjoon, the _face_ , not the muscles). “‘Cause I’m feeling another craving right about now.”

 

And -- _wh_ \-- Namjoon nearly chokes, but he quickly picks up that Jackson is looking _past_ him, at something behind him. Namjoon turns his head to look the same way, and he finds that Jackson is eyeing the gelato shop not too far back, and -- okay, okay, Namjoon was just -- being dumb.

 

“Well, you know what they say,” Namjoon says breezily, and he doesn’t have to wait to see Jackson standing to get to his own feet (and also Namjoon kind of wants gelato, too). “Happy is healthy,” he finishes, scooping up the aluminum wrappers with one hand.

 

Jackson laughs again, pushing his chair in. “Guess that means I’m the healthiest fucker alive, then,” he says, dropping the bag of gummies into another plastic bag with the rest of his candy.

 

There’s a short line up front, and once they’ve established which flavors they want -- Namjoon going with the classical strawberry, while Jackson complains that there’s no dragon fruit, but ends up claiming raspberry anyways -- Jackson bursts into conversation again. And even if there are only two people ahead of them, Namjoon lets himself loose in everything Jackson says.

 

So of course, Namjoon hardly notices they’ve made it up front, snapping to attention when the person at the register calls out to them.

 

“Strawberry, right?” Jackson bites at his lip, fumbling with a few paper slips of money in his hand (he nearly drops his bag of candy, and he swears Jackson nearly has a heart attack, giving a strangled cry of _Fuck_ ).

 

“Yep,” Namjoon affirms, and he frowns as Jackson finally gets a hold on his money. “You know, it’s really okay for me to pay -- ”

 

“Nah,” Jackson interrupts him swiftly, already handing the money to the cashier (who keeps on giving them both weird looks, like, _why_ ).

 

Namjoon sighs, rolling his eyes, but he’s laughing, shoulders shaking as he watches Jackson take the two cups of gelato from the cashier. “Dude, I have money on me, I can at least get you two things -- ”

 

“Well!” Jackson interjects yet again, passing Namjoon his gelato. He looks up at Namjoon, smiling wide. “In _that_ case, whoever gets to the next store first gets to pay for everything.” And he stabs a plastic spoon into Namjoon’s gelato before turning and bolting, and _hey_ \--

 

“Hey, head starts aren’t fair!” Namjoon yells back, running after him, despite fully knowing that catching up with the platinum blonde is more than a little impossible (because Jackson a) works out b) is already super fit and c) he got a goddamn head start! Not! Fair!).

 

All Jackson does is spare Namjoon a quick glance. “Life isn’t fair!” he says back tauntingly, sticking his tongue out, tugging at his piercing, and Namjoon would definitely reach out and smack him if it wasn’t -- so -- _hot_ \--

 

They actually _don’t_ go to any stores -- Namjoon chases Jackson around the outlets, doing his best to respond to all of the light jests Jackson shoots his way while maintaining pace. And even when ten minutes have passed of nothing but running around, half screaming and half laughing, Namjoon still chases after him (a part of him suspects the only reason he can keep up with him is because Jackson’s purposely slowing down for him).

 

Of course, it’s _Jackson_ that ends the chase (Namjoon really never stood a chance, though), transitioning from a jog to a light stroll, walking until he’s at Namjoon’s side again. Namjoon makes sure to chew him out (because _his lungs_ , holy _shit_ ), and Jackson apologizes, before proceeding to off handedly mumble that he wishes he _could have drawn it out a little longer_ (Namjoon gives him a light elbow to the shoulder), but he does buy him pizza to make up for it.

 

And then they keep going -- walking, of course; Namjoon isn’t going to take any more of Jackson’s sprinting shenanigans for a whole _week_ . Jackson lets Namjoon do the talking, at first, and Namjoon jumps the topic of worst fears. Of course, it’s not _that_ serious, and all Namjoon finds that he really needs to know is that Jackson really, _really_ hates roller coasters (“They’re just! Fast, and scary as fuck, and _dangerous_ , and I _some of them do loops_ \-- ”).

 

After an hour of eating on the go, trash already tossed long ago, the topics of music and writing surrounding them, Namjoon’s kind of breathless (for more reasons than one), and he slows to a stop when Jackson halts at an intersection.

 

“Uh, we can cross?” Namjoon glances up at the blinking sign with the pedestrian. He looks back over at Jackson, about to ask what’s up, when Jackson takes his hand in his without warning, and _holy shit_ , Namjoon almost dies.

 

“Gotta hold your hand first; don’t wanna lose you crossing the street.” Jackson winks -- _winks_ \-- at Namjoon. Namjoon’s too flustered to pull his hand away, kind of busy choking and spluttering, and Jackson’s already pulling him forward to cross.

 

Namjoon kind of just stares down at Jackson’s hand, still holding his ( _holding his_ ), and is unable to properly function as they cross the street. Jackson’s hand feels nice and warm (but not sweaty), feels firm around his fingers. As they continue down the crosswalk, Jackson exudes some sort of confidence -- determination, almost, and Namjoon thinks he’s actually trying to get a better grip as he moves his fingers. Namjoon swallows, heart beating a little -- no, a _lot_ faster.

 

“C’mon, don’t wanna get run over by a car, babe,” Jackson says, suddenly pulling Namjoon forward as the crosswalk light’s image turns to the red hand, and _woah_ , wait a second, he is _not_ ready for this --

 

And they’re across, on the concrete of the sidewalk. But Jackson’s also still. Holding. Namjoon’s. Hand.

 

Jackson’s leading him in the direction of a park, not saying a word, and Namjoon has no fucking clue how Jackson can just be so…so _casual_ . He’s treating handholding like it’s is something everyone does on a daily basis; like all friends hold one another’s hands in random pockets of spontaneity. For _Namjoon_ , though -- this has to be, like, one of the only times he’s ever held someone’s hand for longer than three seconds (of course, excluding all the times he had held hands with any family members).

 

And then Jackson actually slows down, and for the first time, Namjoon realizes he’s...not saying anything. That he _hasn’t_ said anything, and that he _still_ isn’t saying anything. He’s just...walking. While holding Namjoon’s hand.

 

Namjoon kind of wants to say something, maybe make some kind of joke about how Jackson looks like a goddamn sculpture with how the sunlight’s hitting him, but at the same time, he _doesn’t_ want to say anything. And he sure as hell doesn’t want to let go, because this is...this is nice. Not just the handholding, but it’s -- it’s something else; something Namjoon can’t quite describe.

 

“Hey,” Jackson is talking, then, head turned in Namjoon’s direction (he’s got those eyes again, _fuck_ ).

 

“Hey,” Namjoon says back, and his mouth is drying out so fucking fast.

 

“‘S this -- ” Jackson holds their linked hands up, speaking softly. “ -- ‘s this okay?”

 

Namjoon swallows -- honestly, it feels more than okay. It feels...comfortable. Right. Kind of like Jackson’s hand is made to be held, or that…maybe they just fit together like this.

 

“Yeah,” Namjoon nods, ducking his head. God, it might feel nice, but it feels _embarrassing_ ; Namjoon’s barely even touched someone’s _wrist_ with any sort of romantic intention, and yet, here’s Jackson, holding onto his hand like they’ve been dating for six years and known each other since grade school.

 

For just a minute, Jackson keeps that nice, leisurely pace -- doesn’t speed up or slow down any further. It’s quiet, save for the sound of cars passing by, and the only thing Namjoon can think of is Jackson’s hand on his, how nice it feels, how nice Jackson _himself_ is.

 

In the silence they share, Namjoon finally works up the courage to look up at Jackson, who’s whistling, looking straight ahead. And his breath kind of gets stuck in his throat, because it barely takes him a second to see how _gorgeous_ Jackson is. Really -- the accentuation of his cheekbones, the sharp curve of his jaw. Even the way the sunlight glitters in his eyes is breathtaking -- orange and yellow and white dancing in his irises, like he’s the sun and stars.

 

And then, when Namjoon thinks he’s just starting to get used to it, get used to the feeling of the whole skin on skin contact thing, Jackson starts talking again.

 

“So, this is kind of totally random and out there,” Jackson clears his throat, and Namjoon wonders if he’s actually about to say something serious. He blinks, waiting for him to continue on. “But, like...I kinda wonder what life for a dog is like. Like, what’d it be like. To be a dog.”

 

Namjoon stares for a second, and after a beat, says, “Dude. _Same._ ”

 

Jackson raises his eyebrows, eyes going wide, and it’s like there’s starlight filtering through his irises. “See?! The world _needs_ to be asking these questions; it’s the real kind of shit that needs answering,” he exclaims, obviously enthused by Namjoon’s response.

 

Namjoon feels a laugh bubbling up in his throat as he watches a smile spread across Jackson’s face. “I mean, I’ve always wondered if dogs dream,” he shrugs. He knows he tried watching one of Hobi’s shiba inus at midnight when he was seven, trying to see if they had REM, but he also remembers he fell asleep before he could take proper notes.

 

“Well, _duh_ , dogs have emotions. So, like, doesn’t that mean they dream? And stuff?” Jackson squints, like he’s not even sure himself.

 

“If they do dream, do you think they dream in color? Because, y’know, it’s theorized dogs can only see a couple of colors,” Namjoon frowns. He doesn’t know why he knows any of this information (must be those dog documentaries Hoseok always plays on the TV).

 

Jackson’s eyes widen, like he’s just had the world’s biggest epiphany ever. “Dude, what about blind people? How do _they_ dream? How the fuck do you see if you can’t see?”

 

Namjoon snorts. “Who knows; maybe they dream with just sound.”

 

And their conversation eases into utter fucking _nonsense_ (“Do flowers consider photosynthesizing to be absorbing or eating sunlight?” “ _Definitely_ eating it; are you kidding me? If I was a flower, I’d eat the heck out of the sun.”); all the stuff Hobi thought made him sound real nerdy, but listened to anyways. It’s nice to be around someone that thinks so much like Namjoon, even if it’s just about the most random shit.

 

After maybe half an hour of just walking around, aimless, they manage to start talking about stuff that isn’t completely batshit off the rails, like music and school. And after Jackson’s finished his long winded tangent detailing his daily suffering in music class, Namjoon eventually asks him how he got into music.

 

“Dude, I’ve loved music since I was born. Like, I swear there must have been music playing when I was born, because that shit is my _life_ ,” Jackson gushes, sounding delighted, and Namjoon swallows when he feels him squeeze his hand for just the barest moment. “But, like, I really started getting into it when I made the move from China. The whole language shift, y’know? I had okay English, but I didn’t know how to read or write it, and I couldn’t talk to anyone in Mandarin, ‘cept my mom, dad, and brother.”

 

Namjoon nods; his first language is English, and though he barely ever uses it, he does have relatively intact, fluent Korean, which his parents had taught him growing up. But he can’t imagine having to move somewhere where you’re struggling to understand every three words someone’s saying, and not even being able to read simple signs or words.

 

“So like, I was sort of made fun of a lot when I was a kid, ‘cause I had an accent, I guess, and I said stuff in the wrong order a bunch. And I could barely write, so that was fun,” Jackson says airily, and though he makes it sound like no big deal, Namjoon suspects it’s a lot more than just a childhood memory. “I didn’t understand a lot of the shit they said to me, so I kinda just dealt with it. And that’s where music came in!”

 

Jackson’s eyes light up, overjoyed, and Namjoon can practically see him blooming with elation.

 

“You know how I couldn’t write? Well, I started trying to write lyrics to improve my English, cause I wanted to know what they were saying, but in the end I ended up writing just for the heck of it,” Jackson says wistfully, looking up at the sky. “That’s how I met Mark, actually. Because I was being bullied and shit.”

 

Namjoon fights off every urge to tense up at the sound of Mark’s name, because _what_ ? Jackson’s known Mark for _that long_?

 

“You remember the guy I dropped by with , right? Yesterday, with the blonde hair, kinda taller than me; that’s Mark.” Jackson makes a gesture towards his hair, blinking over at Namjoon.

 

 _No fucking way I could forget his smug ass_ , Namjoon almost says, but it’s not like he can insult someone that’s probably very important to Jackson right to his face.

 

“Yep,” Namjoon says with a small nod, not breaking eye contact. He kind of wants to ask Jackson how the _hell_ he’s been friends with such an _asshole_ , because Jackson’s probably the embodiment of _not an asshole_. What does Jackson see in Mark?

 

“Yeah. So he kinda told me that I was being cussed out and stuff. He actually suggested I cuss _them_ out in Mandarin, ‘cause he spoke it too, but I’m not all about that kind of thing,” Jackson smacks his lips, “Because, y’know, better to insult someone to their face. But anyways, that’s how I really got into writing music and stuff; it sort of saved my ass in elementary. Kind of sucked, though, when I figured out I was being called a chink, or a bitch, on a daily basis.”

 

When Jackson makes eye contact with him again, Namjoon gets a weird, comfy (fuzzy? Soft?) feeling in his chest, and he realizes...this must be what it feels like to be trusted. Because, hey, this is Jackson being emotional (well, when is Jackson ever _not_ emotional), sort of telling him his very private life story, and he hasn’t stopped once to tell Namjoon to never tell anyone about it ever.

 

And as Namjoon’s listening to Jackson talk about how much music meant to him in his private life because it was what he understood, what _he_ was creating, Jackson squeezes Namjoon’s hand. And he even starts to look at Namjoon with those pretty eyes, and _god_ does it feel different seeing that look with Jackson’s hand on his.

 

“Thanks. Y’know. For this,” Jackson is saying, voice dripping with what sounds like gratitude, and -- and maybe...is that...affection? Namjoon blinks rapidly, trying to process Jackson’s words, the way Jackson’s squeezing Namjoon’s hand like he’s afraid Namjoon’s going to slip away if he lets up just even the slightest. But really, he shouldn’t worry, because Namjoon isn’t going to let go, doesn’t _want_ to let go, and Namjoon finally realizes _why_ \-- it’s because it’s -- it’s _intimate_

 

“No problem,” Namjoon smiles, trying to refocus on Jackson. He’s not sure what Jackson is referring to with _this_ \-- the handholding itself? The walk, the talk? The time spent together?

 

This _is trust_ , Namjoon thinks. Jackson talks -- _a lot_ \-- but maybe...just maybe, he doesn’t talk to people about... _this_ . And Namjoon feels honored, kind of overwhelmed, that Jackson feels he can talk about this stuff with him, and Namjoon’s always wondered, _wanted_ to be confided in like this (Hobi doesn’t count, because that’s not being confided in; it’s having your ear chewed off), and it’s...wonderful. To have someone pour their heart out to you, to talk without a trace of fear, no hesitation, and he wonders offhandedly what it would be like to hear Suga talk like this and --

 

\-- oh.

 

And Namjoon realizes...he actually really, _really_ wants Suga to trust him, wants him to believe in Namjoon, but at the same time...he wants to be that person for Jackson.

 

“Thanks for being such an awesome human being,” Jackson is saying, and his smile is so bright and so _genuine_ Namjoon doesn’t know how he isn’t getting any wrinkles. And then Namjoon’s heart constricts, because _no_ , this is how it feels to be a _horrible_ human being, and he wants to tell Jackson he wishes he could be as great as he thinks he is but all that comes out is --

 

“Yeah, but y’know, you’re just as great.” And Namjoon is starting to feel a little sick to his stomach, wants to maybe gag a little, and then he remembers -- he doesn’t even know if they’re official.

 

Yeah, he’s gotta clear up whatever’s going on between them, what the shared _babe’s_ mean and what their hands, gripping each other, mean, and everything in between. Namjoon opens his mouth, throat dry, and starts, “So, are we -- ”

 

“Jacks.”

 

It’s Mark (god, _fuck_ him. Not up the ass. But just _fuck him_ ), pulled up on his bike, eyes and hair hidden beneath his helmet. All Namjoon is wondering is how the fuck did he find them?

 

“Hey, Mark,” Jackson is saying, and Namjoon’s eyes dart over to his, and something in him sings when Jackson’s grip on his hand doesn’t loosen in the slightest (in fact, he thinks he’s starting to hold on _tighter_ , holy _shit_ ).

 

“Hi,” Mark gives a little wave, balancing on his bike with one leg on the ground. And before Namjoon can ask him how the fuck he found _exactly_ where they were, Mark continues on. “We gotta go. Emergency.”

 

“Huh? But I’m busy,” Jackson frowns, almost pouting at Mark.

 

Mark’s eyes flicker over to Namjoon’s for the barest second, like he’s wondering if he should elaborate, and then he looks back at Jackson. He starts talking again, except...it’s in Mandarin, and Namjoon doesn’t understand a single word.

 

Namjoon stares at Jackson, and finds his eyes are swimming with...worry. And it sharpens as Mark goes on and on and on, and Namjoon realizes Jackson has a death grip on his hand, but doesn’t dare say anything. He squeezes back in hopes to assure him things are alright, and he’s relieved when he feels Jackson loosen his hold, only to give a light squeeze back in response.

 

And finally, after Mark has finished, Jackson nods in Mark’s direction, and turns to look at Namjoon. Namjoon’s surprised to see the anxiousness vanish as they make eye contact, replaced with something tender.

 

“Sorry, I gotta go. Thanks for everything! We should do this again sometimes,” Jackson says, airy and light. Mark revs his engine just the slightest, and Namjoon’s about to let go of his hand and tell him goodnight, Jackson’s raising his hand up, and Namjoon feels his voice get trapped in his throat because Jackson’s --

 

\-- Jackson’s _kissing_ his hand.

 

It’s just a light peck to the ridge of his knuckles, but it’s Jackson’s _lips_ on his _skin_ , and Namjoon thinks he’s about to go into cardiac arrest, watching as Jackson lowers his hand. His hand feels like it’s on fire, _scalding_ where Jackson’s lips once were, and a part of him wonders if it’s natural to feel so -- so _on fire_.

 

Because? Really? Jackson is the physical form of all things warm and hot and fiery -- he’s looking at Namjoon with some intensity that has Namjoon’s heart pounding. It’s not quite _fierce_ , but it’s powerful, maybe passionate, and Namjoon wonders if it’s raw affection.

 

Namjoon can barely breathe.

 

“Text me, okay?” Jackson says, fingers slipping away, and Namjoon is certain his face is colored a million hues of red and pink all mashed together, and he just nods mutely, watching as Jackson strides over to Mark’s bike and hop on behind him.

 

“See ya, babe!” Jackson gives Namjoon one last wave, even winking, and everything is feeling fuzzy, sort of like Namjoon’s floating, until he sees Mark reach back to pat Jackson’s hand and Jackson’s wrapping his arms around Mark’s waist. And woah, hold on a second, why does it feel like he’s _burning_ now, why does Namjoon feel like he wants to kill a bitch --

 

And, er. That’s. Jealousy.

 

Yep. Definitely seething, electric _jealousy_ ; Namjoon isn’t just gonna coin it off as minor discomfort, not gonna lie to himself and say he doesn’t care, because _god_ he’s never wanted to punch or kick or shove someone (read: Mark) so hard in his life.

 

And it kind of...sucks. To be jealous. It’s like the feeling Namjoon gets whenever Hoseok sends him snapchats of him eating gourmet desserts, only this is about a million times more intense. It throws Namjoon off balance, makes him uneasy, and all he can do is watch helplessly as Jackson moves up right behind Mark.

 

Namjoon manages a sort of smile combined with a wave as they’re leaving, and all he can think is _why did I have to go and get involved with someone_ because doing that is literally just setting himself up for jealousy twenty four seven (especially with Bedroom Eyes Boy lingering around Jackson).

 

It’s when Jackson’s gone that Namjoon realizes -- that thing? Yeah. That _thing_. It was never cleared up. Namjoon still has no fucking clue what the fuck’s going on between him and Jackson. Fuck.

 

For sure, there’s _something_ ; the hand holding and the kind-of-kiss established that pretty well. And also those deep (read: nerdy) conversations he had with Jackson, and the _eyes_ Jackson made at him. Those all had to mean something, right?

 

Except ‘something’ doesn’t really translate into, “Yes, we’re dating,” nor does it read “Nah, there’s nothing going on between us”, so is Namjoon’s jealousy even...valid? Allowed? Permitted? Understandable?

 

And then he remembers --

 

“Ugh, Jinyoung is _so_ going to kick my ass,” Namjoon groans aloud to himself, because -- welp, he hadn’t sorted _anything_ out.

 

\--

 

The one thing Jackson notices, as they’re pulling away, is that Namjoon looks beautiful.

 

A different kind of beauty, like the kind you see in nature. The kind that paintings can try to recreate but never measure up; the kind that photographs can always strive to capture but always fall short.

 

Yeah. Namjoon, just waving at Jackson with a pretty (gorgeous, heavenly, heart throb-inducing) smile, is _beautiful_ (it’s too bad he can’t see Namjoon’s dimples from this distance). And Jackson wishes he could have taken just three more seconds to hold Namjoon’s face in his hands, let him know how beautiful he is and kiss him right on the lips.

 

Except, Jackson’s currently moving at thirty miles per hour (and steadily speeding up), and Namjoon’s getting further and further away, so it’d be kind of hard to do all of that right now. Well, at least Jackson will get to see him on Wednesday; maybe there’ll be room for kissing then.

 

“Did you notice anything off about Zitao earlier today?” Mark is asking over his shoulder as he makes a right.

 

Jackson blinks, shaking himself into focus. Right. Zitao. Bad business. Fun times.

 

“Uh, he did seem a little edgy this morning. He was fine at the game, though,” Jackson frowns, trying to recall any nuances in Zitao’s regular Saturday routine. And then he remembers, “Oh, yeah, he was awake on the bus ride to the game. He _always_ sleeps, even if it’s a short drive.”

 

Mark hums, nodding. “He didn’t tell you about anything, though.”

 

“Nope,” Jackson says. But that’s understandable (sort of -- because Jackson tells Zitao lots of stuff, so Zitao should also tell Jackson lots of stuff, too; they trust one another), because leader might have told him to keep stuff hush hush until the evening, for a more serious and closed off setting.

 

“He asked for you, you know,” Mark sniffs, tone low. And when they run into a red light, slowing down, Mark shifts in his seat to rest the toe of his foot on the ground. “This is deep shit, Jacks.”

 

Jackson sighs into Mark’s warm, woolly sweater. “Yeah, I know, I know.”

 

In fact, Jackson _has_ known. For a while, too. He was just kind of hoping it wouldn’t blow over in such a stupid fucking way. It shouldn’t be _that_ hard to forgive. You don’t have to forget, but you can always, _always_ forgive.

 

Mark drops Jackson off at his apartment, tells him, “You know where the site is,” and leaves him to shower and change into something more appropriate. Because god _knows_ what kind of impression he’d make if he met with another gang leader while dressed up in _basketball shorts_ ; Jackson’s not _that_ stupid.

 

After jumping into his shower, he sets the water to warm, he turns and rests his right shoulder against the glass, letting the water run down the plane of his back, his shoulder blades. He closes his eyes, sighing.

 

Ugh; there's so much shit that could go down in the next two hours. He can pretty much count all the different directions this could take, every single way he can set off pandemonium with just a couple wrong words. He wouldn't be surprised if someone pulled a gun on him (though he _would_ be surprised if someone killed him -- but hey, that's not gonna happen, cause Mark's gonna be there). In fact, he's almost certain there'll be at least four instances where someone's gonna threaten to kick his ass into the Atlantic.

 

Jackson takes the shampoo in his hands, drizzling it over his fingers and massaging his scalp, scratching slow and soft. Zitao’s happy now, that’s important. That was goal number two, right after goal number one (which was to get him the fuck out of the danger zone); make sure he was happy. It’s been a journey, nursing Zitao back to health, but now, he’s not running on bruised heels anymore, not walking around with fractured ribs. Hell, he can play fucking _basketball_ now, and he’s good at it, too (not as good as Jackson, but good).

 

And Jackson plans on keeping it this way; keeping Zitao safe and happy and healthy. He’s gotta make sure he can still smile the way he did at the game, gotta make sure he never breaks another bone in his body. Everyone’s gotta stay happy; Zitao, and Mark, and Jinyoung, and Namjoon --

 

God, _Namjoon_ . Jackson craves the way Namjoon smiles, loves how the cut of his dimples deepen when he laughs, the left one just a little more defined than the right. Namjoon’s happiness is contagious, comforting, and whenever he laughs, it’s like Jackson’s whole body warms up and he feels like the sun could disappear and he wouldn’t notice a thing, because he’d still have _Namjoon_.

 

The whole date flashes through Jackson’s head -- all of the eating, all of the running, all of the talking, all of the hand holding -- even the game, and how he could hear Namjoon cheering his name. Really, though, the memory that sticks out the most in Jackson’s mind is of Namjoon being _happy_ \-- of him smiling, of him laughing.

 

Jackson likes making Namjoon laugh, with his stupid jokes and weird metaphors, and he wonders if he could make Namjoon laugh by kissing him, wonders how it would feel to hold Namjoon and just kiss his face, his nose, his dimples, his lips, just to hear and feel him laugh.

 

As Jackson smooths conditioner over his bangs, he wonders about how it’d be just to kiss Namjoon. On the mouth, of course; how he’d respond, if he’d like it soft, or rough, or -- hm, has has Namjoon kissed anyone before?

 

This has Jackson tumbling right into another thought tangent. Has Namjoon ever even had a partner before? Has he been intimate with anyone? Has he ever had sex? What if he’s a virgin? Would Jackson be his first? That’d be real sweet ( _romantic_ , too), to be able to make Namjoon feel nice like that for the first time. Probably cute, too, to see him flustered, maybe curious.

 

...That’s also actually kind of (read: _extremely_ ) hot, collecting _that_ boy’s v-card, like hot _damn_ . But also cute, because if Jackson was able to spend that much time with Namjoon, they’d get to hug and kiss and make out literally twenty four seven, and Jackson could make him smile and just be _happy_.

 

He reaches for the soap, picturing Namjoon naked, in bed, after sex, smiling soft, asking for _cuddles,_ and that’s when he realizes…

 

“Oh. Fuck,” Jackson peers down at himself. “Fuck. I can’t do this right now. Shit. _Fuck_.”

 

Jackson probably has five minutes to finish his shower, get changed, and book it to the meeting. From Mark’s tone, they probably have a fucking timer counting down the seconds until he gets there.

 

“Ugh. _Ugh_!” Jackson twists the knob for the water down to cold, running his hands over his face as the temperature takes a sharp drop. He can’t _believe_ this is the second time this has happened -- _the_ _second fucking time_! And the first time was already inappropriate enough. Like, _literally_ \-- all Namjoon had done was lick his lips and tell him to slow down. And also held onto him really tight and press his chest into his back. At least the rapping and the writing and the salad had done an okay job of redirecting his thoughts, but _god_ , Jackson thought he was going to combust when Namjoon had looked at him like that.

 

He steps out of the shower, dries off as fast as he can, and once he’s dressed (and gelled his hair), he runs out to his bike. He’s only got about a couple minutes until a date with a bunch of killjoys that are more than likely interested in wringing his neck (god, he doesn’t know how they’ll take him being even two seconds late).

 

The drive is short, with Jackson pushing the speed limit as much as he can, and the whole time, he runs through his ‘Hi my name’s Jackson, Zitao’s my friend and he’s also a human being so kindly fuck off and let him live’ speech -- of course, in classier detail. Also minus the fuck off part; that’d probably land him a punch to the jaw and the threat of three bullets in his skull. And as much as Jackson enjoys pushing the buttons of absolute _assholes_ , this is kind of serious.

 

Jackson parks up next to Mark’s bike (heh, he left his jacket out on the handles. Probably wanted to show off his scars, the idiot), and jogs up to the entrance.

 

The place is _way_ too shiny, too clean; it’s almost like they’re compensating for something. Like, it’s not the first time he’s been here, but it doesn’t make anything less eccentric (seriously, what’s with these stupid chandeliers? Everything’s so high class, and if Jackson touched anything, someone would probably demand he cough up a thousand bucks to hire someone just to clean off his fingerprints).

 

He skips by the front desk, oddly empty, and makes his way down to the elevator. When he’s inside, he checks his phone (two minutes left) for any texts, and blinks when his phone buzzes right as he shuts it back off.

 

_From ; Markie :x ; 6:34 p.m._

_Its just zt btw, in case you were wondering_

 

And that’s...kind of good? At least that means a there’ll be a little less tension than Jackson had anticipated. That is, depending on how many friends have decided to show up to the party. He thumbs in a quick text to Mark right as the elevator door slides open.

 

_To ; Markie :x ; 6:34 p.m._

_gr8 im here_

 

And when he takes the first step out, his phone rings again. He checks it, but doesn’t open it to reply.

 

_From ; Markie :x ; 6:34 p.m._

_Also everyones here. And when i say everyone i mean all the assholes_

 

And _fuck_ , that’s just _great_. As if he didn’t have to watch his mouth already.

 

He shoves his phone in his pocket when he reaches the end of the hallway, standing in front of the (obnoxious) double doors. He inhales deep, closes his eyes, and relaxes his shoulders.

 

“My name is Jackson, I’m Zitao’s friend, and I’ve got some very important points to make,” Jackson says under his breath, as he pushes the right door open. He clenches his fist, blinking once, before he steps into the room.

 

 _No more fucking around_ , Jackson thinks, feeling all eyes fall on him, and he lets the door shut behind him.

 

\--

 

Sunday morning isn’t chaos, but it isn’t the typical morning Suga’s used to.

 

It’s not every Sunday morning that Suga’s double checking dinner reservations made for seven at night, nor is it every Sunday morning that Suga meticulously searches through his wardrobe for something pleasant to wear. But _this_ Sunday isn’t a typical Sunday. It’s a date wherein Suga plans on going out...for a date. With Kim Namjoon.

 

Suga needs everything to be perfect; flawless. There can’t be any mistakes, because this is _Namjoon_ he’s treating, and Namjoon deserves nothing short of perfection.

 

His Sunday morning is going well -- quiet, even -- until he finds himself a group of idiots lounging around on his living room couch.

 

“Someone’s busy this morning,” Jimin muses, sitting on Jungkook’s lap, fingers intertwined. “It’s Sunday morning; no work. What’s up?”

 

Suga blinks over at the four, one face to another. He hadn’t had the chance to tell them anything the other day. He can only imagine how quick they’re going to jump his throat for keeping quiet about this.

 

“You alright?” Jungkook frowns inquisitively, pressing a little kiss to Jimin’s cheek.

 

“Do you have a fever? Are you sick? Are you looking for cough medicine? Is that why you’re moving around?” Jin pipes up, already leaning forward to get up and probably get cough drops, a warm, wet cloth and a blanket, and god, _no_ , Suga does _not_ need this right now --

 

“I’m fine,” Suga says quickly, holding up a hand, and Jin reluctantly relaxes back into the couch, but unfortunately, doesn’t seem fully convinced. Suga sighs begrudgingly. “I’m going out for the night,” he says quietly, glancing off to the side. “For a date.”

 

Already, Jin’s interest has skyrocketed, and he’s leaning forward again. “With Namjoon? Is it a dinner date? Why were we not informed of this?” he bursts, eyes wide.

 

Suga barely gets in an eyeroll and nod before Jimin is springing to life, mirroring Jin.

 

“ _Duuude_ , seriously? I’m so proud of you, you’re finally gonna get that ass!” Jimin is saying, and Suga groans loud and annoyed, because of course _that’s_ the first thing Jimin is going to tell him.

 

“Do you need flirting tips? Pick up lines? Subtle and not-so-subtle innuendos and gestures?” Jungkook hums, looking as enthused as Jimin.

 

“Where are you going with him?” Jin is narrowing his eyes at Suga, as if he thinks Suga doesn’t have good taste in fine dining. “You’d better feed him good food.”

 

Suga opens his mouth to tell him of _course_ he’s going to feed Namjoon something nice; they’re going to a fucking _five star restaurant_ that Suga’s been to a handful of times, but he chokes, because now he’s thinking of actually _feeding_ Namjoon -- reaching over with a fork and popping fruits into his mouth, or passing him a glass of water and tipping it forward to his parted, pretty lips.

 

“Kinky,” Jimin snickers, like he’s reading Suga’s goddamned mind, and Suga sends him a sharp glare, because _what the fuck_. Jimin just shifts over Jungkook’s thighs, shrugging, “Uh, it’s kinda written all over your face. That you want to feed him.”

 

Suga feels like he’s about to lose his mind and hurl the nearest object right in the general direction of the couch (because of _course_ the two idiots with _food kinks_ are going to call Suga out for thinking about feeding Namjoon), but Taehyung beats him to the punch, sending a pillow flying into the back of Jimin’s head.

 

“Oh my god, _stop it_ ,” Taehyung groans, facedown on the couch. “I’m literally going to die, right here, right now.”

 

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Jin claps his hands pointedly, and Suga would praise him if he didn’t know what was coming next. “You have people to be doing -- I mean, things to be doing, let’s all give Suga some space.”

 

Suga gives Jin a withering glance as he starts walking in his direction. “Does that also apply to you?” he asks flatly, resisting the urge to sprint back upstairs and into the safety of his bedroom.

 

“Nope, I’m helping you get ready,” Jin shakes his head, sounding delighted, and if only Suga had something to punch.

 

“I can dress myself, thanks,” Suga pushes Jin’s hand away as he reaches for his shoulder.

 

“Sure you can,” Jin nods, but doesn’t relent in the slightest. “I’m just going to make sure you’re dressed to impress,” he says, fingers darting by Suga’s hand to clasp at his jacket (Suga could flip him over. Right now. Just one movement of the arm is all it would take).

 

“Oh, and you should text Namjoon. Let him know to dress nice. If you haven’t already, I mean,” Jin hums, dragging Suga up the stairs. Suga rolls his eyes (his Sunday morning was going _just fine_ , and now all of _this_ ), doing his best to ignore Jimin’s little jeer at Taehyung of, “Haha, you still can’t fucking walk, you weakling,” and pulls out his phone.

 

“I’ll let him know,” Suga mutters, and as he types in his text to Namjoon he can’t help but wonder what Namjoon would look like in a nice, button-up shirt and black-fabric pants; he can’t help but wonder what the night will be like.

 

\--

 

Namjoon is having a crisis.

 

It’s ten in the morning, and he’s just received a text from Suga about their...thing...today. And Namjoon is freaking out.

 

_From ; ♫ MY LIFE ♬ ; 10:09 a.m._

_You don’t have to, but if you wanted to you can dress up for tonight’s dinner. I’ll text you the address, but I can come pick you up. Reservation’s at 7._

 

And Namjoon is about to die, because _wait a second,_ they’re having a _dinner_ ? And dressing up? Formal? Casual? A... _date_ ? Namjoon thought it would just be a normal hang out between them, but _this_ is something else.

 

Namjoon ends up complaining to Hoseok about his dilemma, yelling at him from his bedroom to _get the fuck over here and help a man out_ . Because Hobi’s been on plenty of dates before, and he’s dating Taehyung right now; he has to at _least_ have a _suggestion_ about what to do.

 

“Help me,” Namjoon pleads, shoving his phone in Hoseok’s face when he’s arrived at his bedside.

 

Hoseok blinks, taking Namjoon’s phone from his hand, and the first thing he says is, “Who is ‘My Life?’” and fuck. _Fuck._ Namjoon should have seen this coming.

 

“It’s Suga,” Namjoon manages to choke out, feeling his face grow hot, and the look Hoseok gives him (the raised eyebrows and the widened eyes of shock) is _not helping_ . “ _Help me_ ,” he repeats, grasping at Hoseok’s hands, and Hoseok drops his phone back into Namjoon’s open palms.

 

“Okay, so this is what you call a dinner date. It’s when someone tells you you’re going out to dinner with them. For a date,” Hoseok says slowly, like Namjoon’s a child, and Namjoon is quick to object, because _hold on a second_ \--

 

“How is this a _date_ ?! This can’t be a date! We haven’t established _anything_!” he half yelps in protest (he’s near hysterical at this point, okay?).

 

Hoseok shoots Namjoon a very disbelieving look, arms folded. “You named him ‘My Life’ in all caps and gave it music notes. And you mention his name pretty much every day, talking about how he's the greatest fucking producer in existence.”

 

Namjoon lands a well-aimed (also light, because Namjoon isn't that much of a dick) punch on Hoseok’s arm. “If I tell you there that there _might_ be something, will you save it for later and _help me_?” he pleads, exasperated.

 

Hoseok laughs, rubbing the spot where Namjoon hit him. “Okay, okay, cool it. Just look at it like it's a dinner date. It's Sunday, and you like him, so go have fun, you big flirt,” he says airily, smiling.

 

“It's not a d...ate,” Namjoon starts out strong, but his voice dies away around the word ‘ _date_ .’ Because...what if it _is_ a date? People dress up nice for...dates...Especially dinner...dates…

 

Okay, but what about Jackson?

 

“What about Jackson?” Namjoon blurts out without a second thought, and Hoseok blinks.

 

“Jacks -- oh. Well, fuck,” Hoseok says, folding his arms, like he’s defeated, and _fuck_.

 

“Oh my god, what am I going to do,” Namjoon shoves the heels of his palms into his face. He's so fucking _fucked_ (and, sadly, not in the good way). He has to be the world’s worst asshole; what the fuck is he _doing with himself and Jackson and Suga_ \--

 

“Well, I mean, I've thirsted hardcore before, but I've never thirsted that much for two people at once,” Hoseok is _laughing_ , shrugging his shoulders like everything's fine, when in fact, _nothing_ is fine, and Namjoon is having a fucking _crisis_.

 

“Hobi,” Namjoon groans. “Please.”

 

Hoseok sighs, shrugging with his palms to the ceiling. “I dunno, Joon. I mean, I met Suga; he seemed real nice.”

 

“What about _Jackson_ ?” Namjoon repeats, thinking of platinum blonde bangs and shiny piercings and glamorous smiles. And also hand holding. And Jackson kissing his hand. That stuff’s important, too; _Jackson’s_ important, and Namjoon can’t just cast any of him aside.

 

“Okay, well,” Hoseok quirks his mouth to the side, sounding contemplative. “I haven't met him yet. Do you want me to meet him?”

 

Namjoon makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat as he nods. Ugh, Namjoon is so _fucked_.

 

Hoseok laughs (probably at Namjoon’s pain), saying, “You should all just date each other.” And -- _fucking_ \--

 

“If only,” Namjoon bemoans, rolling onto his side on his bed. He closes his eyes to wallow in his own confusion when Hoseok grabs his shoulder and pulls him up without warning, and Namjoon shouts in surprise.

 

“Nope, no drowning in misery right now, you have a dinner date tonight, we gotta get your shit together,” Hoseok tuts, ignoring Namjoon’s weak flailing.

 

“Wait -- what? It’s like, ten, and the dinner’s at seven,” Namjoon says, ceasing his struggle, frowning.

 

“I know you, Kim Namjoon;  if you don’t start getting ready _right now_ , you’re going to be panicking two hours before he’s even supposed to pick you up,” Hoseok sighs, shaking his head. And with a light tug, he drags Namjoon off of his bed. “We don’t have to get your hair and stuff done, but we should get your outfit planned out.”

 

“I can dress myself, thanks,” Namjoon mumbles irritatedly (he has plenty off clothes to pick from, and he’s _perfectly capable_ of finding something that looks...presentable).

 

Hoseok stops mid step, and Namjoon’s about to take the opportunity and pry himself from his grasp, when he’s suddenly yanked forward.

 

“We should go _buy_ you some new stuff! Like, cologne, an undershirt, maybe some rings and accessories and shit,” Hoseok is rambling, dragging Namjoon out of the bedroom and to the front door to their apartment.

 

“Do I look like I’m made of money,” Namjoon says flatly, removing Hoseok’s hand from his shoulder (he has enough money to live. But that’s it!).

 

“You look like you need to get laid,” Hoseok sniffs, and Namjoon chokes on thin air. Of course, Hoseok just laughs. “And you also look like you need to go out and buy new stuff! So that’s what we’re doing. Right now.”

 

Hoseok ends up leading Namjoon all around the outlets mall, from one luxury store to another, and Namjoon wants to _die_ because everything is so fucking _expensive_ , checking out everything Hoseok _claims_ will look good on him. Hoseok even offers his absolutely expert opinion on nearly everything Namjoon tries out (“I dunno, man, I think if you undo a couple more buttons, you’ll have him drooling over more than just the food.” “Please. Don’t.”).

 

And then Namjoon finally decides on something pretty modest; just a white button-up and black dress pants, and Hoseok tells him he just _has_ to get the stupid forty five dollar bracelet (“It brings out your wrist bones!” “What the fuck does that even mean.”). Thankfully, Hoseok actually _does_ pitch in for some of the shit they buy, so Namjoon still has some money left on hand.

 

When they get back to the apartment, when Namjoon’s cringing over the receipt, he suddenly has a _terrible_ thought.

 

“Holy fuck, who’s paying for dinner?” he says aloud, stuffing the paper back into the bag. He pulls out his phone to ask Suga where they’re eating, and he finds Suga had texted him fifteen minutes ago.

 

_From ; ♫ MY LIFE ♬ ; 1:03_

_It’s on Boardwalk, if you were wondering. I’m coming to pick you up at 6:30._

 

_From ; ♫ MY LIFE ♬ ; 1:04_

_Looking forward to tonight; hope you are too._

 

Namjoon is about to have a heart attack, because _he’s looking forward to it_ _and he hopes Namjoon is too,_ but he’s also about to fold in on himself because he feels _guilty_ \-- does he have any right to feel happy about any of this at all? In his opinion, no, not really. He stares down at his phone, stomach swirling with apprehension, and then Hoseok’s leaning right over his phone.

 

“Aw, that’s so romantic, he must really like you if he’s taking you to a place on Boardwalk,” he sighs, sounding wistful, and wait, _fuck_ \--

 

“Wh -- holy _fuck_ ; _Boardwalk_ ?!” Namjoon splutters, whipping his head up and nearly smacking into Hoseok. But _listen_ : every single restaurant there is at _least_ four stars (there are like, two, and the rest are all five star), and each one has served about a dozen really famous actors and actresses before; even some foreign idols. Namjoon and Hobi used to _joke_ about saving up enough money to eat there, and now Suga’s telling him they’re just going to _eat at one of the restaurants there_.

 

“Yeah, it’s really nice. Taetae took me to the seafood one, the Seastar. I wonder which one Suga’s gonna take _you_ to,” Hoseok hums thoughtfully.

 

“Wait -- when did _this_ happen?” Namjoon sends a look of incredulity in Hoseok’s direction. Whatever happened to not being left out of the loop?

 

Hoseok presses his lips together. “It was a while ago. In fact, it was the first date he took me on, haha,” he says, lips upturned in a fond smile. “Funny that Suga’s doing the same for you.”

 

Namjoon feels his shoulders slump, because _what is with these rich people and expensive shit_ but also -- “Oh my god, somebody stop Suga, he keeps spending money on me, _that can’t be healthy_ ,” he groans. Because there is no _way_ Namjoon is gonna be able to pay for _one_ dinner from anywhere on Boardwalk, much less for _two_ people.

 

Hoseok laughs, like he’s used to stuff like this (which, honestly, now that Namjoon thinks about it, really wouldn’t be that surprising). “Dude, he’s fucking rich. He can afford it, so enjoy it,” he says between laughs.

 

“No, you don’t _understand_ , this is, like, the hundredth time I’ve let him just _do_ stuff for me; _I’m_ the one that should be doing stuff for _him_ ,” Namjoon almost wails, “This was supposed to be me making it up to him for everything he’s done for me.”

 

Hoseok rolls his eyes, smiling. “You nerd, he obviously thinks you’re worth it,” he snickers.

 

Namjoon opens his mouth to say something witty, but his mind blanks and his heart rate jumps up to a million beats a minute, and not a single word leaves his lips.

 

“Ha! So you acknowledge it,” Hoseok says loudly, pointing right at Namjoon’s face with an air of triumph.

 

Namjoon feels the warmth in his skin rise to his face, and he lets out a strangled noise. “Fuck -- what do I do if this is a date,” he mumbles, staring at the floor.

 

“We already established this: yes it is,” Hoseok says curtly, shifting his weight to one leg.

 

Namjoon swallows. “Does this mean Suga’s. Interested.”

 

“I mean, if you look at all the facts, he probably is,” Hoseok says, and god, Namjoon is going to _die because_ \--

 

“But -- Jackson,” Namjoon says, voice cracking eloquently.

 

Hoseok throws his arms up. “I don’t know, oh my fucking god, you should all just _date each other_ ,” he says, breathless.

 

“They don’t even know each other!” Namjoon almost screeches, but then -- wait, what if. They do. “Er, I mean, I don’t think...they know each other…” he says, voice quieting. He remembers Suga’s reaction when he revealed Jackson’s name, but that isn’t really the most solid piece of evidence to prove Suga actually knows Jackson (but maybe gangs just...know each other?).

 

“Okay, okay, you can mope later. Right now, you got a date by the beach, go get ready so you can make Suga swoon,” Hoseok rolls his eyes, already pushing Namjoon toward the bedroom.

 

“Wait, it’s like, one -- ” Namjoon starts, but Hoseok just cuts him off.

 

“Whatever, just go shower. I’ll give you a massage when you’re done. But like, you should start loosening up, because tonight you’re gonna have _fun_ ,” Hoseok says, and they’ve already moved more than half way across the room.

 

“But I had fun with Jackson yesterday, and I didn’t prep at all,” Namjoon mutters quietly. Wait a second, uh --

 

“Wait a second -- you went on a _date_ yesterday? You were with _Jackson_ and you went on a _date_ with him? All you left was a sticky note on my face that said, ‘I’ll be out for the afternoon, dunno how long I’ll be,’” Hoseok says, imitating Namjoon’s voice and _hey,_ Namjoon does _not_ sound like that.

 

“ _Now_ you understand my struggle,” Namjoon groans, fumbling with the door handle.

 

“Well, yeah, yeah, but we gotta get you ready, you can tell me your whole shit story while you’re fixing yourself up,” Hoseok says, flippant, and he shoves Namjoon through the door once it’s opened.

 

“Wait, it’s _one o-fucking-clock_ , what do you expect me to _do_ \-- ” Namjoon protests, but too late, Hoseok’s already thrown him (yes, that is an accurate description. Hoseok’s muscles are no joke) in the bathroom, shut the door, and when Namjoon tests the doorknob, he finds that, yep, Hoseok’s holding it closed.

 

“Now start talking; we’ve got five hours,” comes Hoseok’s voice, muffled by the door.

 

Namjoon’s shower is quick and light, and (against his will) he relays his tale of woe(?) to Hoseok through the shower curtain and the bathroom door. As always, Hoseok doesn’t ask questions, just says very loudly, _And?_ whenever Namjoon pauses. When he steps out of the shower, he breaks from his story when Hobi insists on giving him a shoulder massage.

 

He tells him about the basketball game, kind of lets slip how fucking _amazing_ Jackson’s arms are (especially when Namjoon can feel them), and when he tells him about the cupcakes, Hoseok frowns mid massage and scolds him for not telling him he went to the bakery to buy them.

 

While waiting for his hair to dry, he tells Hobi about the whole...date...thing...and Namjoon _swears_ that with every detail Hoseok starts massaging his back _way_ more painfully than he needs to be. Like, when he brings up the chocolate, it’s like he’s trying to crush his shoulder blades, and when he starts talking about the hand holding, it’s like he’s pinched a nerve.

 

“You’re telling me that he not only _held your hand_ , but he _kissed it_ , too,” Hoseok says, once Namjoon’s done recounting his story.

 

“Yes -- _ow_ , dude, what the fuck,” Namjoon winces, pushing Hoseok’s hands away, because at this rate, he’s going to snap his fucking spine in half.

 

Hoseok pats Namjoon’s back before pushing off of the bed. “I mean, I don’t wanna sound like _that guy_ , but it sort of sounds like…”

 

“Oh my god, you’re right, I’m a fucking horrible person, I’m fucking awful, I want to die,” Namjoon shoves his face into his comforter. He doesn’t feel like he deserves a five star dinner right now at all, nor does he feel like Suga or Jackson deserve all this bullshit.

 

“Well, I mean, I was gonna say it sounded like you’re whipped for two people at once, which must be _exhausting_ , but -- no, stop that, don’t degrade yourself,” Hoseok blinks down at Namjoon.

 

“I’m literally the worst human being in the world,” Namjoon ignores Hoseok as he pokes at his shoulder incessantly.

 

“But hey! Look at it this way: you’re going to have fun tonight. Like, even if it’s only this once. You’ll get to hang out with Suga and eats lots of expensive food, so cheer up,” Hoseok says brightly, and Namjoon can practically _hear_ his smile (Namjoon wishes he could be that happy all the time). “And I think maybe this’ll help you make a decision. Y’know, choose.”

 

Namjoon just sighs again, loudly, so Hobi can hear him, and lies as still as stone. He doesn’t _want_ to choose, though, and he feels disgusted with his himself the more he thinks about it. And the thought of _having_ to is honestly... _terrifying_ , and Namjoon doesn’t know what to do.

 

\--

 

At six twenty five, Namjoon has to stand up to keep himself from rolling around on his bed, the anticipation is so bad. He migrates from the bathroom to check himself in the mirror, to the bedroom to give himself a mental pep talk, and then to the living room to pace around aimlessly. The whole time, Hobi’s just sprawled over the couch (doesn’t he have dance practice, or something?), smiling up at him like he’s _amused_ by Namjoon’s suffering.

 

“You kind of look like you’re about to be sentenced to death, dude. Relax; it’s gonna be fun,” Hoseok says with emphasis (for maybe the millionth time in the space of two hours), but it doesn’t stop Namjoon from moving very much. He does, however, take a seat at the opposite end of the couch.

 

As Namjoon tries (he really is trying) to relax, he taps his toe against the carpet and plays with the ring on one of his fingers (ugh; it’s a nervous habit). “I’m just...nervous. It _sucks_ ,” Namjoon sighs, shifting when Hoseok moves one of his legs over his thighs. There are way too many things on his mind, and he just can’t stop _worrying_.

 

“Oh, come on, it’s only been five years since you last went out on a _legit_ dinner date,” Hoseok snorts, but his eyes soften when Namjoon groans. “Okay, I meant it’s good you had some buffer time; new slate. But hey, this is why you should get out more often. And with more people,” he says, and Namjoon sighs (he used to do stuff with Jinyoung a lot, but with college...and stuff...it hasn’t really...happened...).

 

“And as soon as I start to ‘get out,’ I end up attracting the attention of _two_ people, and then I end up liking both of them,” Namjoon mutters, twisting his ring around his finger.

 

“Well, _duh_ ,” Hoseok says as-a-matter-of-factly, sitting up straighter. “You’re very dateable material, and yes, that’s a word ‘cause I say it is, but really -- you’re talented and smart and nice and handsome as _fuck_. If you dated more, I’m telling you, this’d be a piece of cake.”

 

Namjoon blinks over at Hobi (who’s apparently texting someone; must be Taehyung). “Yeah, well, why don’t you go out on a date with one of _your_ role models and idols,” Namjoon says sarcastically.

 

Hoseok shrugs (what is _with_ him and shrugging today?). “Anyone can be a role model or idol,” he muses. “Isn’t it the person themselves that really matters?”

 

Namjoon blinks. He wasn’t really expecting their chat to turn into Deep Shit™, but Hobi does have a point. Maybe this whole...idol-fan barrier is in Namjoon’s head. Maybe Suga isn’t so far out of reach.

 

“And hey, you look _great_ , Namjoon. As in, twelve out of ten would bang, like good shit, if I do say so myself,” Hoseok pipes up.

 

“Thanks, Hobi,” Namjoon says, and it’s meant to come out dry, but his voice is softer than he intends it to be.

 

“Sure, Joon,” Hobi looks up from his phone to treat Namjoon to a grin.

 

At six twenty nine, Hoseok’s pushed him out of the apartment, down to the first floor, and out the front entrance. Namjoon has his phone in hand, frantically checking for anything from Suga, but the only thing waiting for him is the text Suga sent him about ten minutes ago saying he’s on his way.

 

“Okay, so remember: have lots of fun and eat as much food as you want. And also flirt. That’s a thing you can do,” Hoseok is telling him, adjusting his collar.

 

“I can’t flirt,” Namjoon says flatly, and he says it because he’s literally _incapable_ of flirting; like, what the fuck is a pickup line.

 

“Sure you can! Just remember the buttons thing I told you about,” Hoseok says, patting Namjoon’s shoulder.

 

Namjoon is about to give Hoseok a very mortified _No_ , but his voice sticks to the back of his throat when he hears the sound of Suga’s motorcycle in the distance. Very slowly, he turns around, stuffing his phone into his pocket (breathe, Kim Namjoon, _breathe_ ).

 

“Hi, Suga!” Hoseok says from behind Namjoon, right when he pulls up, and Namjoon is about to say hi, too, when Hoseok says right next to his ear, “Buttons. Remember the buttons. And the fun. And the food. And everything else I told you.” And then Namjoon can hear him walking away.

 

Suga nods, pulling his helmet off, and _dear fucking lord_ \--

 

He takes his helmet off in what _has_ to be slow motion, shaking his mint bangs to the side, and _fuck_ , he’s in a black blazer that fits his shoulders perfectly, a black dress shirt, black dress pants black dress shoes, with a silver necklace hanging from his neck and everything just fucking _screams_ hot, hot, fucking _hot_.

 

And then Suga looks right at Namjoon, dark brown eyes staring straight into Namjoon’s soul, and Namjoon can feel his mouth drying out at the speed of light, because god, _god_ , Suga’s cheekbones are so sharp and his jaw is defined, his eyes are gorgeous and his lips are so _pretty_ , fifty out of ten would make out with, and it’s then that Namjoon remembers, _Wow, I’m gay._

 

“Hey,” Namjoon says, and somehow his voice doesn’t break off and drop to the bottom of the fucking ocean. He also kind of wants to scream for Hobi, because _help, he’s really gay and Suga’s really hot, help, S.O.S., Namjoon's going to be dead by the end of the night_ \--

 

“Hey,” Suga echoes, and Namjoon’s pretty sure his knees go weak when he hears him talk (and he’s still looking right at Namjoon, god save him). And then Suga gives Namjoon a not so subtle once over (Namjoon’s body is going to evaporate) and he coughs into his fist. At first, Namjoon thinks he’s wearing his shirt backwards or something, but then Suga says, “You look good.”

 

And Namjoon could probably ascend to heaven right there and never come back down.

 

“Thanks, y-you look g...ood, too,” Namjoon says hurriedly, but his voice wilts halfway through his sentence and fuck. _Fuck._ Not okay, not nearly as nice as how Suga said it; Namjoon is terrible at this.

 

Suga coughs into his fist again (he’s not sick, is he?), and then he’s holding his helmet out for Namjoon. “Thanks,” he says, before Namjoon fumbles with the helmet, climbing onto the bike. “The drive isn’t too long,” Suga says over his shoulder as Namjoon carefully wraps his arms around Suga’s waist (will he wrinkle his outfit if he grabs on too tight?).

 

Namjoon nods, and as they’re pulling away, Namjoon can see Hoseok waving through the glass doors, grinning ear to ear, and if Namjoon wasn’t dying he’d wave back.

 

They drive quietly, and eventually the taller buildings buildings disappear, replaced with (expensive) beach homes and vintage stores Namjoon doesn’t ever think he’s seen. He does recognize when they arrive at Boardwalk, because he’s never really bothered to go _that_ far into rich people territory.

 

Yeah, he can tell, because now they’re by the beach, and all the cars everywhere look like they cost a million bucks.

 

And then Suga slows down, parks in front of one restaurant, La Vida, and Namjoon hops off once they’ve slowed to a full stop. He pulls Suga’s helmet off (still smelled minty), handing it to Suga, and he won’t deny how quickly his heart rate ratchets up when Suga looks right at him.

 

“You’re fine with outdoor dining,” Suga says, as he’s hanging his helmet on his bike. And, er, Namjoon’s eaten outside, sure, but he doesn’t remember the last time he ate outside _at the beach_ , let alone outside at somewhere _this fucking expensive._

 

“Yep, fine with me,” Namjoon says with a small nod, and he keeps pace at Suga’s side when he starts walking toward the main entrance.

 

Namjoon takes in the whole place when Suga pulls the door open, and holy _shit_ it’s like he’s entering another goddamn _dimension_ , because there are pretty paintings and lights and a fountain, and Namjoon doubts he’s ever set foot in a place as nice as this (well, maybe Suga’s place was a little nicer). Even the music’s pretty; some soft piano piece that has Namjoon’s shoulders going lax.

 

Suga moves up to the waiter standing at the ramp up to the actual restaurant, and Namjoon thinks he just nods at the guy, and then he’s leading them up the ramp.

 

There are a lot of other (really rich looking) people, Namjoon notes, as they make their way past the other tables. And then they’re moving up a stairwell, and fuck, the view is _amazing_ (it's got nothing on Suga, though), with the sunlight painting the ocean waves over with a golden sheen, the sky is a brilliant pink-orange, and Namjoon doesn't remember the last time he got a proper look at the sunset like this.

 

Eventually, they stop by a table for two, and Suga actually pulls Namjoon’s chair out for him. Namjoon can feel himself blushing as he takes a seat because...will their water...think there’s...something...

 

“Thank you,” Suga says to the waiter, who gives a polite nod before walking away. And then Suga takes a seat in front of Namjoon, and he's looking right at him with some sort of smolder that has Namjoon shivering --

 

“How has your day been?” Suga is talking. Talking to Namjoon. Right, gotta respond now --

 

“Spent the whole day -- ” _getting ready for you_. “ -- er, buying stuff. Um. With Hobi,” Namjoon says, and he wants to scream, because that is literally one of the _lamest_ responses he could have given. “What about you?”

 

Suga exhales, looking tired. “Uneventful. Which is nice, since this week was hell.”

 

“Oh. Glad you can finally breathe, then,” Namjoon nods, sympathetic. Suga had been texting him the whole week, and he gave a relatively clear picture that the artists he’s currently working with are total fucking idiots. But from what it sounds like, catty idols haven’t been the only problem on Suga’s plate as of late.

 

Suga blinks ( _shit_ he has pretty eyelashes), and for a moment, he looks like he’s thinking hard on something, before he leans back in his chair and says, “I have to deal with incompetent so called adults. Some of them can’t take a hint and back off; the others can’t tell when enough groveling is _enough_.”

 

Namjoon hums in acknowledgement; sounds like something...gang related? He’s about to ask if it is, when another waiter reaches past his shoulder to place a water onto his coaster.

 

“Do you want something to drink?” Suga’s asking, reaching for his own water as it’s set down, and uh, no, _nnoo no no no no,_ Namjoon should _not_ touch _any_ alcohol tonight; god knows what the fuck he’s going to say if he’s drunk, or even just the slightest bit _tipsy_ . And Namjoon has never had alcohol, so there’s that (and then there’s the whole thing about _money_ , no _way_ is Namjoon going to make Suga pay even _more_ for him).

 

“No, it’s fine, um, I’m good with a water,” Namjoon smiles, shaking his head. “Thanks, though.”

 

Suga turns to the waiter, and Namjoon thinks he recognizes the words _‘iced tea’_ floating off of his lips. And then the waiter leaves, and it’s just them again.

 

“So how badly are people trying to kiss ass?” Namjoon says, fingers skimming the edge of his menu (there are no? Prices? How the hell is Namjoon supposed to know what’s the least expensive item?).

 

Suga snorts. “It’s bad. Some people try too hard to get shit out of everything.”

 

“Sounds like a handful,” Namjoon says, laughing a little. “You can handle anything, huh.”

 

Suga puts his water back on his coaster, coughing into his fist again (okay, Namjoon’s really starting to worry that he’s sick or something). “If only,” he says airily.

 

And then, as Namjoon’s looking over the menu, Suga talks all about a recent ‘acquisition’ (something about getting more territory), and all the bullshit he’s going through trying to keep everyone in line. Suga isn’t vague about anything, actually, which surprises Namjoon, because he’d expect stuff as serious as this to be something secretive.

 

After Namjoon’s ordered (he orders risotto, he has no idea how expensive it is) and their waiter’s set some bread rolls down, Suga starts to talk about his closest members (Jungkook, Jimin, Jin, and Taehyung), about how they’re _fucking idiots that drain all of his energy_ _twenty-four-seven_ , but there’s a subtle intonation of affection in Suga’s words, and Namjoon gets the sense they’re all really, _really_ close.

 

In fact, Namjoon actually starts to feel a little warm hearing Suga say how it’s nice to have people that are always there to back you up, even if they make his ears bleed (“I don’t know how some groups function without any organization -- or loyalty, for that matter. The one I’m dealing with right now doesn’t seem to have any form of connection amongst the members.”). The way Suga speaks has the atmosphere softening, lightening up, and Namjoon finds himself feeling relaxed, cozy.

 

And then, when what feels like hours of talking have passed (the food must take a while to make), their waiter comes back with their food, and Namjoon can already tell with one look that the food is going to being good. Small portions? Pretty garnish? Expensive looking plate? And also, the aroma is _divine_ \-- Namjoon’s mouth is already watering.

 

Namjoon adjusts in his seat, reaching for his fork, and when he takes the first bite it’s like he’s tasting something made in heaven; fuck, is this what nirvana feels like?

 

“Fuck, this tastes really good,” Namjoon says, after he swallows it down (because talking with your mouth full is rude and gross and Suga is literally right across from him). “Like, I could eat this forever probably.”

 

Suga blinks, and Namjoon can see him smile, and even if it’s just a twitch at the corner of his mouth it almost has Namjoon falling out of his chair, because _rest in pieces_.

 

“I know; their food is pretty great, though I prefer their meat,” Suga says, and Namjoon’s eyes flicker over to Suga’s meal.

 

“Oh, what did you get?” Namjoon says, before (neatly) digging into his own food again.

 

Suga glances up at Namjoon. “Veal saltimbocca. It’s calf meat,” he says, “I’m not interested in anything vegan, so I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.”

 

“Oh, definitely not. I’d die if I tried to go vegan; meat is amazing,” Namjoon says quickly, “Like, that looks like it’s really good.”

 

Suga pauses in his cutting motion, looking up at Namjoon. “Do you want to try some?” he says, questioning. Namjoon eyes his food, looking over the red sauce and the way the dish has been set up, and hey, why the heck not?

 

“Sure. I mean, only if you’re not super hungry, I don’t want to steal any of your food,” Namjoon says, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t even a little curious as to how veal tastes.

 

“No, it’s fine,” Suga says, continuing to cut at his meat, and then he picks up a piece on his fork and holds it out in front of Namjoon. At first, Namjoon expects him to drop it on his plate, but then he realizes -- he must be offering it directly to Namjoon?

 

So Namjoon leans forward before his face can turn a hundred percent pink, biting down on the fork and _oh_ \--

 

“Woah, that _is_ really good,” Namjoon tries not to gape, but his mouth is watering and his mind is trying to process just how fucking _great_ the veal tastes. He smiles as he chews, “You really have good taste.”

 

Suga pulls his arm away, and he can see his mouth being tugged up in a soft smile (are the heavens parting? Are the angels singing? They should be, because Namjoon feels like he’s dying). “I’m glad you like it,” he says, before beginning to eat (haha, no, Namjoon is not interested in how Suga’s lips open and close when he eats, no, nope, not at all).

 

They eat in silence, then, and slowly, the gears start turning in Namjoon’s head again, meaning he’s starting to think again. Like, mostly about how this. Is a date. A dinner date. With Suga.

 

He looks up at Suga (for maybe the thirtieth time) as he’s eating, and he feels his heart jump a little when he gets a good look at his face. He keeps staring, and with every passing second the question in the back of his mind gets louder and louder --

 

“So, um,” Namjoon starts before his filter can kick in. He feels a jolt of electricity run through his vein when Suga looks up and meets Namjoon’s gaze.

 

“Yes?” Suga says patiently, voice so _soft_ , lowering his fork.

 

Namjoon swallows. _Is this a date?_ he wants to ask, but he finds that the words get lost as he looks at Suga, whose eyes are so _beautiful_. “Er, I was…” he says, but he’s unable to finish his thought.

 

Suga blinks. “Is there something wrong with your food?”

 

“No! No, no, it’s perfect,” Namjoon says hurriedly. Ugh, the last thing he wants is for Suga to feel like he’s done something wrong (because, if anything, it’s _Namjoon_ that’s fucking things up). “It’s just, uh...lost my train of thought,” he says meekly, and his ears burn with shame as he scolds himself for being so _afraid_.

 

“Oh,” Suga says, before beginning to eat again, and fucking. Shit. Namjoon is such a fucking coward. He can’t even ask one simple fucking question.

 

“I haven’t been working on too much music lately, but I’ve been fleshing out a few classical pieces,” Suga is talking again, and Namjoon shakes himself from his thoughts, looking back up at Suga attentively. “Most of them are piano based,” he says, and woah, Suga can play the piano? Or, well, Namjoon supposes it really shouldn’t be a surprise, because come on: this is _Suga_ he’s talking to.

 

“No way, that’s awesome,” Namjoon says, awed, “How many have you been working on?”

 

Suga takes a sip of his iced tea, blinking thoughtfully. “Three. They’re all personal pieces, so no one’s heard them yet, aside from myself.”

 

“ _Three_ pieces?” Namjoon gawks, because Suga can work on producing other artists’ stuff and have _three_ classical pieces of his own in the works? Most of the time, Namjoon can barely even keep two decent pieces alive.

 

“Yeah. Would you like to be the first to hear them?” Suga says suddenly, voice silken, and Namjoon swallows, because there’s no _way_ can he deny him when he asks it like _that_.

 

“Y-yeah, that’d be cool.” Namjoon smiles, nodding hastily.

 

They skirt the topic of music for the rest of their meal, Namjoon asking about Suga’s worklife and Suga giving nice, thorough answers. They mostly talk about genre preference, and (of course) they both seem to be partial to anything hip hop. Suga even talks a little bit more about his music composition process, elaborating on what he’s already told Namjoon in past writing session.

 

And then Namjoon finishes his food, surprisingly at the same time as Suga, who’s wiping at his mouth with a napkin in a way that kind of has...Namjoon...staring harder than he already is.

 

“Do you want anything for dessert?” Suga is asking, and Namjoon blinks. Inwardly, he wants to say yes and no, because Suga’s probably already spent like a thousand bucks for him at this point, but he remembers Hobi telling him to eat, and also...Suga’s looking at him with those dark, pretty eyes.

 

“Uh, sure, what are you getting?” Namjoon swallows. There’s no dessert menu at their table, so…

 

“I usually have the tiramisu; it’s a nice finish to something savory,” Suga says, giving a simple thank you to their waiter as he takes their plates and empty glasses away.

 

Namjoon’s had tiramisu like, three times in his life before, and he’s pretty sure it’s not the cheapest dessert. Meaning it’s probably, like, a hundred bucks here, oh god. But maybe if he --

 

“Oh, do you want to share?” Namjoon says, because maybe then he'll be cutting down whatever Suga's already paying for.

 

Suga blinks, almost like he's caught off guard, but he gives a polite nod. “That's fine,” he says, before he turns to their waiter and making their order.

 

And their dessert comes out just a couple minutes later (something about a fresh batch just being made?) and wow, that is one aesthetically pleasing dessert.

 

Suga has his fork in hand, but he's not moving, and Namjoon realizes he's...waiting for Namjoon to eat first. So Namjoon takes his own fork, and confidently, takes a bite out of the tiramisu and _Jesus Christ_ \--

 

“ _Fuck,_ that tastes good,” Namjoon sighs, practically melting at the taste of coffee. This has to be, like, the best thing he's ever eaten in his whole fucking life, what the _fuck_ \--

 

“I’m glad you like it,” Suga says, coughing into his sleeve, and he's reaching forward now to eat.

 

They trade off bites (it’s almost like Suga’s waiting for him to eat more every time he finishes a bite of his own), and even though they dine in silence, it’s noticeably more...comfortable, than before. It sounds dumb to say (or even think), but it’s sort of like that thing where you don’t need words to talk. Ugh, that barely even makes any sense; Namjoon probably sounds ridiculous.

 

And then, when Namjoon’s swallowing down a particularly large bite, he notices that Suga’s watching him (with those eyes; Namjoon is about to die). Even when Namjoon’s finished chewing, Suga hasn’t moved forward like he has before to take his bite. So Namjoon takes his chances (read: risks his life) and looks up, and now they’re looking each other. Directly in the eyes.

 

Suga’s eyes suddenly flicker lower, to Namjoon’s...chin? Neck? L...lips?

 

Namjoon’s about to reach for his napkin or ask if there’s something on his face, when Suga looks back up at Namjoon and his words are crushed before they can even reach the roof of his mouth, because, um. Hi. Namjoon swallows, doesn’t have anything to say, because Suga’s reaching forward. Except...he has a napkin in his hand? Instead of a fork?

 

It takes Namjoon all of two seconds to realize what’s happening, but he’s gone stock still because there’s no _way_ he’s gonna move away from Suga, and all he can do is watch as Suga leans forward, over his edge of the table, hand coming closer and closer to Namjoon’s face until --

 

Suga touches the edge of his napkin to the corner of Namjoon’s lips, and he starts wiping away at whatever Namjoon failed to eat. And. Uh. He’s. So close. And he’s looking at Namjoon. Also sort of touching him. Almost on the mouth.

 

All Namjoon can feel is his heart, hammering against his chest.

 

Suga doesn’t pull away, not just yet, just keeps cleaning at the corner of Namjoon’s mouth, and Namjoon is one hundred and twenty percent sure he’s going to burst, until Suga pulls back.

 

For another second, it’s quiet, as Suga’s moving back into his chair, and then Suga’s mouth opens, except it’s to say, “We’re ready,” and Namjoon jumps in his chair when he sees their waiter swoop in from left field to drop their check off at Suga’s end of the table.

 

And Namjoon just kind of...sits there. Watching Suga dashing his signature across the receipt. He stares at Suga’s fingers as they move, clicking the pen, and huh, those fingers were literally less than a centimeter from his mouth, holy fuck.

 

He’s replaying the scene over and over in his head (because that was _definitely_ real, holy shit), and then Suga’s closing the check, placing it back on the table. He looks up, and then their gazes catch, and _um_ , _um_ , _help_.

 

Suga blinks at him, and god his mint hair looks so nice and soft with how the lights striking each strand in just the most perfect way. “I’m sorry, was that too forward?” he’s saying suddenly, as their waiter picks their check up, and his expression is apologetic and gentle.

 

And Namjoon wants to scream and say, _Not forward enough!_ Because? Namjoon doesn’t know what to think of that? And also he kind of wants to fall over and curl up and hide his face, which must be turning pink.

 

So really, all Namjoon gets out is nothing, looking back wordlessly at Suga, and he can feel his face warming with a blush. Suga’s looking back at him, too, and _shit_ Namjoon has to say something real quick, he must look so fucking stupid --

 

And then Suga’s...laughing?

 

It’s light and affectionate and it’s doing illegal things to Namjoon’s brain and Namjoon just blushes harder. Because. _Fuck_.

 

Suga’s laughter calms a little, but he’s still smiling and Namjoon still wants to die. “Sorry -- ” Suga’s clears his throat, “ -- if that bothered you.” And Namjoon thinks he can see starlight in his eyes as he looks over the table, right at Namjoon.

 

“N-no, don’t be; it’s fine, um,” Namjoon stutters quickly, and come on, hurry, gotta make sure Suga doesn’t feel bad -- “Thanks for -- uh, cleaning me up.” And. Okay. That sounds kind of weird. But that’s not really the worst thing Namjoon could have blurted out (not by a million miles).

 

Suga blinks, and Namjoon thinks he’s...inspecting his face? For more food maybe? And as their waiter slides Suga’s credit card back onto the table, Suga looks away and says a quiet thank you again. When he’s put his card back into his wallet, Namjoon grabs his napkin and presses it to the corner of his mouth (except he doesn’t feel anything there?), and when Suga turns his attention right back to him he places it back on the table.

 

“Did you want to come back to my place?” Suga’s asking, and yes, Namjoon would love to hang out and also know if Suga likes him, confirmation, where are you -- “You can listen to the pieces I’ve been finishing up.” and yes, _yes_ , a million times _yes_ , that would be _amazing_.

 

“Yeah, yeah, that’d be awesome,” Namjoon smiles.

 

Suga nods, rising from his seat. “Ready to leave?”

 

“Yep, let’s go,” Namjoon stands, following after Suga as he starts toward the stairs. God, his dreams have been _made_ tonight.

 

\--

 

The lights are on in Suga’s house when they home, and he thinks he hears Suga mutter something under his breath before they pull into the garage (something like, “Fucking shit”?). Namjoon supposes it’s Jimin and Jungkook, or Tae or Jin, that are currently home.

 

He finds he’s at least half right when he walks into the living room, right behind Suga.

 

“Hi, Suga,” Namjoon hears Jungkook saying, and he sees that, yeah, Jungkook’s seated on the couch, with Jimin sitting on his lap. They’re facing each other, faces pretty close like they’re gonna kiss (or have just put a hold on a make out session), and their fingers are intertwined.

 

“Hey,” Suga says, and it almost sounds...terse?

 

“Heya, so how’d your da -- oh,” Jimin turns his head, and he stops when he sees Namjoon. Er, is there something else on Namjoon’s face? Did he (and Suga) miss a spot?

 

“Welp! We gotta go,” Jimin is suddenly saying, smiling bright and wide, and in an instant, both he and Jungkook are standing, moving toward the door.

 

“Hope you had fun,” Jungkook pats Namjoon’s shoulder as he walks past him, and then he’s...giving him a thumbs up? Why?

 

Namjoon’s about to say, _Yes, this entire weekend has probably been the funnest time of my life_ ,  when Jimin says loudly, “Hope you _have_ fun!!” and before Namjoon can say anything else, Jimin adds, “Night!” and then he hears the sound of their motorbikes starting up and then pulling away in rapid succession.

 

When Namjoon looks back at Suga, some lame comment about how _that was weird_ at the edge of his teeth, he finds he’s walking toward...the kitchen? And, oh -- Jin’s here. And so is Taehyung, who’s asleep on the couch, opposite to where Jimin and Jungkook had been seated, buried beneath at least three blankets (oh, is he...recovering...from Friday...like...Hobi...).

 

“Hi, Suga, how was your date?” Namjoon sees Jin (kind of sounds like he’s cooking something? Namjoon thinks he can smell cookies) in the kitchen, enthusiastic and alight as always. But then he hears his voice drip down to a more serious tone, face contorting with concern, like he’s just heard bad news. “Oh? What’s wrong? Why are you giving me that face? Did something happen? Food poisoning? Did you tell him that you -- ”

 

There’s a short silence, and for a second, Namjoon panics and wonders if something actually _is_ wrong.

 

“Oh! Oh. Oops, sorry, just a second,” comes Jin’s voice, and Namjoon releases the breath that was locked up in his lungs. Okay. So. Probably nothing wrong.

 

And then he can see Jin shutting off the oven, grabbing a tray out of it and sliding it onto the counter. He then proceeds to stroll (power walk?) into the living room, two chocolate chip cookies in hand and a half eaten one in his mouth.

 

“Hi, Namjoon!” Jin mumbles, giving a quick wave to him before he turns and gives a light tap to Taehyung’s forehead. “Sorry, I’ll be out of your way in just a second -- Tae, wake up, we gotta go.”

 

Taehyung groans something absolutely unintelligible in response, barely moving beneath his pile of blankets. Jin sighs, and before Namjoon can even blink, Jin’s pushing the blankets off of Taehyung and picking him up. Taehyung gives a sharp yell of protest (and pain?), cringing as Jin hauls him into the air.

 

“Stop it, I need to rest, I can’t walk, _what are you doing_ ,” Taehyung whines, hitting Jin’s shoulder sleepily.

 

“Is there something...wrong?” Namjoon hears his own voice, but it’s so quiet he wouldn’t be surprised if Jin and Taehyung didn’t hear him.

 

Jin glances over his shoulder at Namjoon, moving his head out of the way to avoid a weak punch from Taehyung. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just don’t want to interrupt your evening,” Jin hums, ignoring Taehyung’s struggling. And then he’s moving past Namjoon, reaching the door to the garage, and before he disappears, says, “Bye! Have a nice night!” and then he leaves him, just like Jimin and Jungkook had.

 

And now it’s just Suga. And Namjoon. Alone. In his house.

 

It’s then that Namjoon realizes: this is the perfect time to ask Suga. What this is all...about. They could go over...stuff, and maybe...maybe Suga would ask him out...? That would probably put a freeze on Namjoon’s brain.

 

Except. Jackson.

 

No, no, it would be wrong, _so fucking wrong_ , Namjoon can’t do that to himself, can’t do that to _them_.

 

But...he can’t deny...that he definitely felt _something_ tonight, more than once, more than twice (maybe even before). And in all honesty, he’s...still feeling it.

 

He decides that _now is the time, he’s fucking got this, he’s gonna clear this shit up_ , and all the confidence is winding up as he turns around to face Suga --

 

\-- and it all crumbles the second they make eye contact. Because Namjoon’s knees feel weak, his mouth and throat all dry, and Suga just looks so powerful, so fucking handsome with his pretty face and perfectly-tailored black blazer and what are words?

 

“Want to head up to the studio?” Suga’s saying, and Namjoon blinks.

 

“Yeah, sure.” Namjoon licks his lips, following after Suga when he turns, and okay. Cool. Studio. They can talk there, too.

 

The studio’s just as clean as Namjoon last saw it (he thinks he heard Suga mutter “Thank god” under his breath, but that could have been something else), and Suga moves over to the electric piano off toward the window. He drags a chair with him, and when he’s seated, gestures for Namjoon to come closer.

 

“So, these are nameless?” Namjoon says as he takes a seat, and he notices that Suga doesn’t have any sheet music. Holy fuck; he can play them memorized? Already?

 

“As of now, yeah,” Suga nods. And then he splays his fingers out, resting them on the keyboard. He blinks up at Namjoon. “Ready?”

 

“Go for it,” Namjoon smiles.

 

And then --

 

Namjoon learns that Suga plays the piano like no other; treats the keyboard like it’s just an extension of his own mind and body. The way his hands cross over white and black in seamless strokes, cascading with a rhythm no one else could ever hope to imitate, and it all weaves into the most beautiful piece of music Namjoon’s probably ever heard in his life.

 

The best part, though, is watching Suga’s face as the piece progresses. There’s no outward expression of emotion, no scrunching of the nose or nervous lip biting, but his eyes sing with each note; Namjoon can _see_ the music in Suga’s eyes.

 

And then it’s done, and Namjoon is breathless.

 

“Woah,” Namjoon says, and the reason he’s so awed is more because of Suga, his eyes, than it is because of the piece (even if it was gorgeous; god Suga is so fucking talented).

 

“It’s almost finished,” Suga sighs, and wait, _what_ \--

 

“It’s not done?” Namjoon splutters, and now he’s _really_ shocked. Because honestly, that piece could probably sell itself already, but nope, Suga’s not done with it. It shouldn’t be such a shock, though; he’s so fucking _good_.

 

“Not yet, no,” Suga says airily. And then he looks up at Namjoon, expression unreadable. “What did you think of it?”

 

“I -- ” Namjoon sucks in a breath. Words, words, words, what can he say? How the hell can he describe that all? Maybe if he just says -- “ -- loved it. I’ve never heard -- ” or _seen_ \-- “ -- anything like that. Ever.”

 

Suga blinks up at Namjoon, his lips parting slightly, and was that the right thing to say? Like, Namjoon wasn’t lying, but what if Suga’s weirded out?

 

“Thanks,” Suga says, lowering his head, and he’s coughing into his knuckles. He places his fingers back to the keys. “I’ve one more prepared. Do you want to listen to it?”

 

Namjoon nods without hesitation. “Definitely.”

 

And when Suga brings his fingers back down, Namjoon watches.

 

\--

 

Namjoon ends up hearing Suga’s second piece, which is just as enticing as the first, but Suga’s third piece is apparently not performance ready, and he doesn’t get to hear it.

 

They talk, though, and it’s comfortable and relaxing, more than how he’s felt all evening. It feels sort of like a slow progression, but Namjoon likes the point they’re at, where Suga can literally insult a fucking tree for getting in his way, and Namjoon can laugh as loud and as long as he wanted, and it wouldn’t be weird at all.

 

It’s nice, but.

 

Namjoon’s a fucking coward.

 

By the time it’s ten, when the stars and the moon are soaking everything with their soft glow, Suga’s already driving him home. Namjoon clings to Suga, and he tries to enjoy the intimacy, the closeness, tries to etch the memory of what it all feels like because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get to feel this again.

 

They pull up in front of Namjoon’s apartment, and as the bike grinds to a halt, Namjoon has to restrain himself from holding on just a little tighter, asking if he can just stay a little longer. And he’s successful, getting ready to step onto the curb, and he wants to ask --

 

“Hold on, I have to check something,” Suga says, before Namjoon can move, and it’s Suga that’s getting up off the bike, not Namjoon. “It’ll just be a second,” Suga adds, kneeling down beside the bike.

 

Namjoon blinks down at him, watching as his fingers trace the black material of his bike. He has to ask. He has to fucking ask _now_.

 

But...Suga’s so pretty, from every angle. With how he’s wordless and how he moves his fingers and Namjoon...Namjoon can’t.

 

“Um, thanks for the dinner,” Namjoon says instead, voice a little hoarse. He shifts on the bike seat, and he keeps his eyes on Suga’s hair; the mint locks are so bright they practically shine under the stars and moon.

 

Suga looks up at Namjoon, and there’s a look in his eyes that could probably send Namjoon straight to heaven, and he swallows. “I really enjoyed being with you,” he says, and it’s...it’s not a lie, but he feels like he’s taking a needle and threading it through his own fucking skin. He’s such a fucking _coward_ , because he can’t ask one stupid question, and a fucking _asshole_ because he’s a goddamn _two timer_.

 

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Suga says, glancing at Namjoon once before looking back down at his bike. “I enjoyed myself, too.”

 

And Namjoon feels his heart beating a little faster, and it’d probably feel nice if it wasn’t for the nagging guilt and despair scraping at his bones. He stares down at Suga a little longer, and maybe if he says something to lighten the mood some --

 

“I hope I didn’t, like, murder your bank account. It must have been super expensive, haha, sorry,” Namjoon says. He didn’t get to see the grand total, but it probably was enough to send Namjoon into bankruptcy.

 

“Don’t be,” Suga says, and Namjoon hears something click in the bike, and Suga stands. Namjoon starts moving off the seat, when Suga says airily, “Trust me, it barely made a dent.”

 

Namjoon laughs, because _duh_ , Suga’s rich as hell. He probably eats dinners like that all the time. If Namjoon was rich himself, _he’d_ eat like that all the time, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and he looks over at Suga to tell him so, but he stops because. Suga’s looking at him. But also. Moving closer, and --

 

Ah.

 

Those are Suga’s lips. On the side of his cheek. Directly to the left of his mouth. He’s kissing his one of his dimples.

 

Namjoon can’t breathe.

 

Suga’s lips feel soft, as if it’s simply a ghost of a touch. There’s a kind of smoothness to it, like a snowflake against his skin. Namjoon feels weak as a chill ripples up his back, and he feels himself blushing and he -- he doesn’t want it to stop.

 

But Namjoon blinks once, and Suga’s pulling away, sitting back onto his bike. And...Namjoon’s already standing up, away from Suga. His skin feels bare without Suga’s touch, and he doesn’t know what to do except stare at Suga, who stares back.

 

“Good night, Namjoon,” Suga says then, and Namjoon blinks again and he’s driving away.

 

Namjoon stands there for a good minute, blinking at Suga’s figure as he vanishes after a couple of stop lights. His body feels like it’s made of air, like he’s floating, and his heart is beating so fast --

 

Until it all comes crashing down. Because. This is -- t _his is_ \--

 

Namjoon walks straight into his apartment, slams the door shut behind him (he forgets to lock it), and when Hoseok talks at him all he hears are syllables all crammed together to make a sentence that sounds more like ocean waves than actual words. He wants to ignore him, wants to just walk straight into his bedroom, but his feet are stuck to the fibers of the carpet.

 

It takes Namjoon a second to realize Hoseok just asked him how his date went, and Namjoon just kind of stands there. He feels so lost, even if he’s right at home.

 

“I’m a terrible fucking person,” Namjoon croaks. He’s not going to cry, but he kind of feels like it on the inside.

 

Hoseok is quiet for just the barest second, before he turns the volume of the TV down and sits up on the couch. “What happened? Did he make a move and you rejected him?” he asks, slow, gentle.

 

Namjoon doesn’t respond, just staring at Hobi, because he doesn’t know what to say. And Hoseok just hops off the couch, on his feet, and he’s hugging Namjoon with the strength of a bear probably (Namjoon’s used to it, so he doesn’t feel like he’s suffocating).

 

Hoseok walks back over to the couch, tugging Namjoon to sit down next to him.

 

“Joon, what happened?” Hoseok says, and Namjoon knows he’s trying to make eye contact with him, but all he can do is stare at the coffee table.

 

“It -- ” Namjoon inhales and he thinks of all the things he could say, remembers how amazing it all was. “ -- it was wonderful, and I loved every second of being with him and he kissed my cheek, and I loved that too, but I’m…” Namjoon remembers the feeling of lips on his cheek, lips on his hand. Suga, Jackson. Jackson, Suga. “I’m horrible, Hobi, I’m no good for him or Jackson.”

 

Because who is Namjoon to hold the hearts of two people, and enjoy being with _both_ of them? Two wonderful, spectacular, _ethereal_ people, and then there’s Namjoon. It’s so selfish, so disgusting, and Namjoon feels like he’s ripping something apart; like _he’s_ being ripped apart.

 

“No, no, don’t say that,” Hoseok squeezes his wrist, has the other arm around his shoulder. Namjoon feels numb, but he can feel a little warmth from Hobi’s fingertips.

 

Namjoon runs a hand through his hair, squeezes his eyes shut. He needs to rest.

 

“I kinda. Wanna sleep right now,” Namjoon says quietly, leaning onto Hoseok’s shoulder. “Please.”

 

“Sure, hold on,” Hoseok says, patting Namjoon’s back, “I’ll make you some tea and all that fun stuff, just a sec.”

 

Namjoon falls asleep on the couch, the sound of whatever soccer game replay Hoseok was watching playing in the background. Before he falls asleep, he thinks of two smiles, two faces, and two people.

 

\--

 

Monday morning (more like the entire day) is like a terrible hangover -- or at least, what Namjoon assumes would feel like a hangover.

 

He drags himself to class, feeling like he could die with every step he takes. He can’t think straight at all, and becomes very familiar with the sensation of nausea as the clock ticks on. He barely gets through three seconds of clear thoughts before platinum blonde hair and mint colored bangs crash into his consciousness, and he swears he almost vomits twenty times in class alone.

 

By lunch (he eats alone, hears his phone buzzing but doesn’t dare check it), he feels like he hasn’t seen sunlight for three years and like he’s eating for the first time in a week, even if his stomach screams _You’re going to throw up any second!!_ . He eats at a Starbucks off campus, and it’s when he’s seated that he realizes that he’s terrified of running into Jackson, terrified that he’ll hurt Jackson even _more_ (god, the damage is already _done_ , though, Namjoon is so fucking _horrible_ ).

 

Finally, halfway through his sandwich, he decides he can’t just _ignore_ Jackson, because that’s so stupid, and he’s acting like a fucking four year old that just got denied a chance to go trick or treating. At light speed, he texts Jackson that he’s busy, has some extra classwork, before shoving his phone back into his lap top bag. It’s a lie, and Namjoon thinks he could just smash his face into the table (he didn’t even read what Jackson had texted him).

 

He tries to keep himself occupied with his laptop, researching weird biology shit in effort to keep his mind off of anything related to Jackson or Suga, but fails when he starts reading up on REM sleep and sleep paralysis, which leads him to a page about insomnia and ways to treat it. When he starts reading about music therapy, how different genres help different people, his eyes snag on the words _hip hop_ and _classical_ , and he has to shut his laptop, breathing in, breathing out, and he swears he was about half a second away from throwing up his entire fucking lunch.

 

Going back home, Namjoon feels like there a rocks in his lungs, and like he’s carrying around the sky on his shoulders (is this how Atlas felt?). He keeps replaying every moment he’s shared with Suga, shared with Jackson, even though the switch between memories is like juggling knives and he keeps cutting his fingers with every toss.

 

At home, he gets to work on his homework as quick as he can, his mind turning like clockwork. When he makes his way to the music portion of his workload, he can’t stop thinking about _them_.

 

He throws himself onto his bed, and as he stares up at the ceiling he wonders what it would be like to see the smiles on both of their faces fall, the light in their eyes be replaced with _hurt_ and _betrayal_ , and he just --

 

“I can’t,” Namjoon wails, grabbing at his bangs and pulling hard. He can’t do this; this is so fucked up, _he’s_ so fucked up, this is awful and he wants to just hit the pause button, because he doesn’t know what to do anymore (that wouldn’t even fix anything, though, it’d just delay the inevitable).

 

Somehow, he makes it to work without crashing his car, and he almost collapses when he remembers. He has to see Jinyoung.

 

Except, by some miracle, Jinyoung’s not alone when he walks in through the front door. Jaebum’s at the counter, chatting with a hearty grin and Jinyoung’s rolling his eyes at him, so maybe. Maybe Namjoon can get through this without dying.

 

Namjoon eases into the flow of work better than he thought he would, and he thinks the greeting he sends Jinyoung and Jaebum’s way sounds happy enough.

 

Only, he works and thinks exactly like a robot.

 

One macchiato. _My name is Kim Namjoon, I like two people, and those two people like me_.

 

Two hot chocolates, three iced teas. _I can’t date both of them because that’s cheating and that would hurt both of them, but also I can’t pick either of them, because. That would. Hurt one of them._

 

One espresso, two americanos. _If I pick neither, I’ll only hurt myself._

 

Now there’s a thought.

 

One mocha, one frappuccino. _I’ll only hurt myself. Nobody else._

 

“Hey,” Jinyoung’s waving his hand in front of Namjoon’s face, and he blinks.

 

“Uh, hey,” Namjoon says, clearing his throat. _Gotta look like you have your life together_ , he tells himself, _Start smiling, start smiling_.

 

“Hey,” Jinyoung parrots, “You alright? You kinda spaced out for a second. As in, a whole twenty seconds.”

 

 _No_ , Namjoon thinks, _I’m not alright. I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked up my relationships with two people, both of which are perfect and lovely and I admire them so much and I’d do anything to keep both of them happy. But again, I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked up my relationships with them. So no. I’m not alright._

 

“I’m alright. ‘M just tired,” Namjoon swallows, struggling to meet Jinyoung’s eyes.

 

Jinyoung blinks, and Namjoon...thinks he gave a decent enough answer.

 

“You wanna tell me about your weekend?” Jinyoung says slowly, turning away to wipe down the counter, and Namjoon has to suppress a sigh of relief. But he almost chokes, because now he’s remembering everything all at once, and _god_ , the nausea is back --

 

“Uh, it was good. I had fun. Jackson’s perfect,” Namjoon says, directing his attention to the tiles on the floor.

 

Jinyoung casts a questioning glance his direction, and _fuck_ , maybe Namjoon’s answer was too short, too vague.

 

“That’s good to hear,” is all Jinyoung says, though, and Namjoon holds in another sigh of relief. He’s about to get back to work, when Jinyoung turns back around and adds, “I got your back if you need anything, okay?”

 

Namjoon blinks, startled, but he composes himself quickly. “Th...thanks,” he nods. That’s...that’s exactly what Namjoon wants, _needs_ to hear, but at the same time exactly the _opposite_ of what he _deserves_ to hear. He knows Jinyoung wouldn’t have that same sentiment if he knew about...everything.

 

And work finishes just like that, uneventful and quiet. Namjoon appreciates the space Jinyoung’s had given him, but at the same time, he kind of wants Jinyoung to know his struggle, so he could yell at Namjoon and tell him how fucking stupid he is. Because _that’s_ also what he needs to hear; maybe the _only_ thing he needs to hear.

 

He lies in bed, wide awake but tired as shit, and the only thought racing in his head, around and around is of them; Jackson and Suga, Suga and Jackson, over and over and it. Doesn’t. Stop.

 

No nightmares, but he sleeps worse than the night before.

 

\--

 

Namjoon’s entire week is utter shit.

 

He gets through classes fine (read: his grades don’t drop. Everything else, does, though, including his energy, his pride, and his self confidence), but he feels miserable and gross twenty-four-seven.

 

His phone just won’t stop fucking buzzing, and even though Namjoon tries to avoid checking his messages, all he can do is wait an hour after a text before he sends a quaint little reply of _haha ok_ or _same_ (he can’t ignore them. He can avoid them, but he can’t. Ignore them). He hopes it doesn’t make Jackson feel like shit, hopes it doesn’t make Suga worry.

 

Wednesday night comes, and Namjoon can’t bring himself to go to Jackson’s game. He feels like he’s going against some sacred creed, some precious tradition, to not show up, wrapping himself up in his bed’s blankets. Ashamed, guilty, worthless.

 

Hobi is a huge help; he lets Namjoon know ( _tries_ to let Namjoon know) he’s alright, that things are gonna work out. He makes sure he gets up on time, cooks breakfast, and he leaves Namjoon nice dinners before going to dance practice.

 

Tonight, though, he stays in the apartment, saying that Namjoon is _legit looking awful, I’m worried you’re gonna throw up for real this time_ , and he lounges in the living room while Namjoon tries to sleep. The door’s open just a little, and Namjoon can hear him humming along to something chipper. Namjoon hides further under his comforter.

 

After an agonizing fifteen minutes of inner debate over whether or not he should go to sleep or text Jackson, he finally reaches for his phone and opens up his messages to Jackson. He stares at the screen for a couple of seconds, before he finally types in his pathetic lie.

 

_To ; J-Flawless ; 1:48 p.m._

_hey im not gonna be at the game today, im feeling sick sorry. hope you win_

 

And all he has to wait is ten seconds before his phone buzzes, and Namjoon shuts his eyes, grinding his teeth together. He opens his phone again, feeling numb as he reads Jackson’s response.

 

_From ; J-Flawless ; 1:48 p.m._

_aaaw noooooo i hope u feel better!! drink pineapple juice it makes ur throwup taste less gross_

 

And Namjoon can’t help but smile, the first expression of something joyful he’s made in two whole days, but it vanishes as quickly as it forms. No, no, _stop_ , Jackson needs to stop being so lovable and Namjoon needs to stop being so infatuated and so hideously _disgusting_.

 

His phone buzzes again.

 

_From ; J-Flawless ; 1:48 p.m._

_ill win the game 4 u babe!!!!!!!!!! promise swear 2 god cross my heart ❤❤❤❤_

 

The amount of heart emojis is overwhelming and Namjoon feels nauseous again. He thumbs in a very quick _ill be rooting for you_ , before he tosses his phone onto his nightstand and curls up in a ball. He keeps thinking about the way Jackson calls him babe, so effortless and so casual; _natural_ , almost as if it’s Namjoon’s real name. And then he thinks of everything -- the hand holding, the hand kissing, the trust, the breathlessness, the warmth -- all of it.

 

He feels himself drifting, when there’s a knock at the front door and he jolts to full awareness. He peeks over his covers, but he already hears Hoseok clambering off of the couch and saying loudly, “Got it, just a sec!”

 

Namjoon closes his eyes, trying to will himself back to the state of limbo he’d been floating around in, but after he hears the click of the door, he hears Hobi say, “Ah! Hi, Taetae.” followed by the sound of what must be a quick kiss.

 

Namjoon’s blood runs cold, and he brings his legs closer to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. But why is he trying to hide? Taehyung isn’t here to interrogate him. Probably.

 

“Hi, Hobi,” comes Taehyung’s voice, and Namjoon winces. Maybe Taehyung is here to pick up Hoseok for a date, some dinner, or a movie.

 

“What’s up? Something the matter?” Hoseok is saying.

 

“Nothing’s up, just wanted to see you,” Taehyung replies, and Namjoon swallows.

 

“You’re so sweet,” Hoseok is gushing, and Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut when he hears more kissing noises. He tries not to think of Suga kissing his dimples, tries to go to sleep.

 

“No Namjoon?” Taehyung suddenly says, and Namjoon’s eyes fly open, his spine stiffens. No, no, _no_ , Taehyung can’t be here to ask about him, he _can’t_.

 

“Namjoon’s, ah, not feeling so good. He’s asleep in his room. So nothing but kisses for you tonight,” Hoseok says, so sweet, and Namjoon can clearly see his smile as he speaks.

 

“Hm. That’s no fun,” Taehyung says back, and -- oh. Maybe Taehyung wanted to just do...stuff with Hobi. Yeah. Stuff. That’s all.

 

“Hey, don’t pout, you’ll get cold sores,” Hoseok is laughing, “We could go out, if you’re feeling so eager.”

 

“Whatever you want, babe,” Taehyung says, and there’s the nausea again, crawling up Namjoon’s throat and threatening to spill over his lips.

 

“Perfect, because I’m starving. Be right back, gotta tell Namjoon I’m gonna be out,” Hoseok says cheerily, and Namjoon can hear his footsteps approaching.

 

His door creaks open, but he barely moves when he hears Hoseok sit at the side of his bed. He blinks his eyes open when he feels Hobi’s hand on his shoulder.

 

“Hey, Joon,” Hoseok is whispering, massaging his shoulder. Namjoon grunts to let him know he’s listening, opening his eyes just the barest bit to look up at him.

 

“‘M gonna be out with Taetae for dinner, ‘kay? Just call me if you need anything. I’ll be back in a flash, got it?” Hoseok hums, running his fingers through Namjoon’s hair. It feels nice, but not nice enough to completely overpower the urge to throw up.

 

Namjoon nods, eyes fluttering shut. He waits for Hoseok to get up and leave, but his fingers don’t leave his scalp. And then Hoseok says, “Try and get some sleep, okay? I left tea leaves in the tea maker if you can’t sleep.”

 

Namjoon swallows, nods again, and with one final ruffle to his hair, Hoseok gets up, and after a couple of seconds, Namjoon hears, “So I was thinking something gourmet; is your wallet prepared?” and then the sound of the door clicking shut, locking.

 

Namjoon sleeps, and it’s a good, long nap, but even when he wakes up, four hours later, he doesn’t feel any less exhausted than before.

 

\--

 

The game doesn’t feel the same without Namjoon.

 

Nope, not at all. There’s no happy, grinning, cheering face (well, one that Jackson actually one hundred percent wants to see) in the stands when he glances over his shoulder. It feels just like it did last Wednesday; kind of empty.

 

They win, of course, because Jackson has the best fucking team on the planet, but it doesn’t really _feel_ like a win. Well, maybe it sort of does, with how the bleachers are alive with shouts and screaming. But like, it’s only forty-one percent a win. Namjoon, the other fifty-nine percent, is missing, and thus, it’s not a full victory.

 

“Nice one, Jacks,” Mark congratulates him post-game, walking up to him with a grin.

 

“Thanks! I feel like my feet are gonna fall off,” Jackson smiles back, wiping at his forehead with his towel. “You enjoy the show?”

 

“Take a guess,” Mark sniffs, passing him his water bottle, and Jackson promptly pops the cap off.

 

“The crowd pleaser strikes again!” Jackson says with a burst of zeal, running water over his hands and splashing some on his face.

 

Mark snickers, and he shifts his weight to one side. Mark’s always amused by everything Jackson does, even if it’s when Jackson fucks something up.

 

“No Namjoon tonight,” Mark is saying then, and it’s not a question.

 

Jackson shakes his head, watching how he flicks water droplets from his bangs. “Nope; he’s feeling sick tonight,” he says. He remembers Namjoon’s little _I’ll be rooting for you,_ and he finds himself smiling a little wider.

 

“Seriously? Second home game in a row,” Mark scoffs, arms folded. He’s looking at Jackson with a raised brow, but he looks sort of amused.

 

“I’d rather him be nice and snug in his bed than suffering and rolling around on a gym floor,” Jackson shrugs, taking a swig from his water bottle. He doesn’t want Namjoon to suffer over one basketball game. He hopes he’s not suffering in general, but he hasn’t really been responsive all week. And, like, Jackson doesn’t want to be nosy or pry, but he’s kinda worried. Maybe he got sick over the weekend?

 

Haha, the weekend, when Jackson got to hold his hand, and also kiss it. Seeing Namjoon smiling, then flushing when he took his hand. Maybe, on Saturday or Sunday, they can go out to see that one new movie, or write music together over dinner or lunch. But best of all, Jackson can hold his hand and hug him and maybe kiss him for the first time? Yeah, yeah, that’d be great.

 

Jackson sighs wistfully. He kind of really misses Namjoon.

 

“Uh huh,” Mark nods, and then he’s pulling his phone out. “Dinner with Gyeom tonight. You, me, him? Zitao said he’s staying in. Leader’s suggestion.”

 

Jackson lowers his water bottle, nodding as he swallows. “Sounds good to me,” he says, wiping at his mouth, “You got a place in mind? I don’t care where we go, ‘s long as the food’s good.”

 

“Asian place. Gyeom’s already there,” Mark clips.

 

The drive is quick, Jackson following right behind Mark, and apparently the ‘Asian place’ is a P.F. Chang’s, so actually, it’s a fake Asian place. But he’ll eat, because the food isn’t _actually_ that awful.

 

“Finally, lord _Jesus_ , I was falling asleep,” Yugyeom yawns when they take a seat at his table. He stretches his arms over his head, looking over to Jackson. “Did you win?”

 

“By a landslide,” Jackson smirks.

 

The rest of the conversation follows along the lines of “School is shit,” and Mark telling Yugyeom to “Suck it the fuck up,” and hey, Jackson’s just sort of...busy...thinking about Namjoon. Namjoon and his smile, Namjoon and his laughter, Namjoon and his rap, Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon. He should be the inspiration for the next piece he writes. Again, for the second song in a row, haha. So he doesn’t really pick up on most of what they’re talking about, until he catches the word ‘Starbucks.’

 

“He’s such a fucking bitch, all I asked for was a fucking iced tea,” Yugyeom is muttering, rolling his eyes, and hey, _hey_ \-- he better not be talking about Namjoon.

 

“Hey, nuh uh, don’t talk shit about Namjoon, you can’t rail on my babe,” Jackson looks up from his rice, squinting at Yugyeom. _No one_ shit talks the babe; absolutely _no one_.

 

Yugyeom pauses mid-sentence, throwing Jackson a confused look with his mouth hung open. When Mark snickers, Yugyeom rolls his eyes again.

 

“I wasn’t insulting your hubby, I was talking about four-eyed hardass,” Yugyeom snorts, digging into his own rice, and -- oh.

 

“Oh. You mean Jinyoung,” Jackson says, swallowing his food. “Jinyoung’s nice. He’s such a mom, though, I swear.”

 

Yugyeom cringes, curling his lip, like Jackson’s just given him an Anatomy 101 lecture. “Jinyoung, Junior, whatever the fuck you wanna call him; he’s a fucking _hardass_ ,” he sneers, picking at his food with newfound aggression.

 

“Woah, what’d he do to piss you off?” Jackson blinks. Must have been something real serious; Jinyoung isn’t exactly an open book, but he isn’t usually an outright _dick_ to people unless something drastic’s happened.

 

Yugyeom gives an irritated sigh. “I asked for an iced tea. An iced tea. And he tells me to fuck off! The bitch!” his hands are in the air, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Fuck him and his fucking nerdy glasses; if he’s asking for war I’m gonna give him hell.”

 

Mark is laughing off to the side, sifting through the beef on his plate. And Jackson gets it, Jinyoung and Mark have bad blood with one another, but he doesn’t really see what’s so hilarious about...this.

 

“I dunno, man, he does have his moods,” Jackson shrugs. That’s probably the case; Jinyoung can go from placid to grouchy real quick (but also, why would he just tell Yugyeom to fuck off? His haircut?).

 

“Well, fuck that shit; that’s not an excuse to be rude,” Yugyeom says disdainfully, taking a bite of his food.

 

Jackson tries to come up with any reason as to why Jinyoung’s been so cold to Yugyeom, but he doesn’t remember anything. “When did you see him? Today?” he decides to ask.

 

Yugyeom leans to the side in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah. I saw him yesterday, too. God, that’s _twice_ he’s been an ass to me,” he finally says, glaring bitterly at his glass of water.

 

“He probably got a bad test grade, or something,” Jackson scrunches his nose up. He remembers the look Jinyoung always gave him whenever he asked about a test he failed (read: got a ninety-eight on). But then -- oh! If Yugyeom was there yesterday, maybe he saw Namjoon…? Maybe he works Tuesday shifts.

 

“Did you happen to see Namjoon yesterday?” Jackson leans his elbows onto the table. Maybe he saw how he was doing, if he looked pale or unhappy.

 

Yugyeom blinks, like he’s startled by the question. “No, don’t think so,” he shakes his head slowly. “Tall? Bleach blonde hair? Tan skin?” he says questioningly, and Jackson’s world lights up at the mere description of the man.

 

“With a beautiful smile and the most precious dimples; hell yes, that’s my babe,” Jackson sighs, remembering the way Namjoon smiled so bright, looked so happy.

 

Yugyeom covers his mouth, faking(?) a gag. “Ew, you romantic cheeseball, you’re too cute -- but no. He wasn’t there.”

 

Jackson sticks his lower lip out, pouting. Either Namjoon doesn’t work Tuesdays, or he called in sick. Or he could have just been in the back when Yugyeom ordered. “Aw, that’s too bad. I hope he’s not _that_ sick,” he says, and Yugyeom shrugs.

 

“Maybe he has pneumonia,” Mark says casually, and _nooo no no_ ; that would be _awful_. He’s starting to picture Namjoon coughing and feeling miserable, and just. No. That’s wrong. So wrong.

 

“No, don’t say that,” Jackson frowns at Mark, who just gives him a shrug.

 

“It’s a valid possibility,” Mark says with a quirk of his lips.

 

“Well, yeah, but,” Jackson sucks in a breath. “I don’t wanna think about him being all sick and stuff. He doesn’t deserve that shit.”

 

Jackson spends the rest of dinner kind of on the edge of his seat. What if Mark's right? What if Namjoon _does_ have pneumonia? What if he's hospitalized and he just doesn't want Jackson to know? What if he broke a bone? Maybe Jackson should check up on him, see if everything’s okay.

 

He tries to manage a peppy demeanor for the remainder of the night, but he keeps looping back to the thought of Namjoon, wondering if he's okay. Shit, Jackson would be all over Namjoon if he was sick; he doesn’t deserve to suffer; not one bit.

 

\--

 

It doesn't get better.

 

Okay, at the very least, Namjoon isn't drinking any alcohol or sneaking out to buy drugs while Hoseok's asleep. But it doesn't get better.

 

All week, he gets sweet, little texts from Jackson, the kind of stuff that plucks and pulls at Namjoon’s heart strings and gets his mind racing. And there's no shortage of emojis; Namjoon gets about a hundred or so every hour. He does his best to respond, be kind in his very short replies, but every now and then he'll read a text that's _too_ sweet, and he just has to put his phone down and hold his breath, count to ten and back and to ten again. God, Jackson is literally an _angel_ , and Namjoon can’t believe he’s wasting his time fretting over Namjoon’s well being.

 

An excellent example of Jackson’s sweetness would be a text received on Thursday morning:

 

_From ; J-Flawless ; 8:22 a.m._

_hey good morning i hope ur feeling better!!!!!! i won the game btw lol didnt feel the same w out u tho haha anyways get lots of rest and stuff!! also remember the pineapple juice thing. have an awesome day miss u babe!! :x_

 

And it doesn’t help that Suga _also_ texts him stupidly sweet stuff, also telling Namjoon to take care of himself (how Suga knows that he’s not feeling well, Namjoon wouldn’t know). His texts might be shorter and more formal, but it has Namjoon struggling to breathe all the same, because he can practically _see_ Suga in front of him, talking or making some sort of insult toward a rising idol.

 

The stuff that really gets to Namjoon are the kind of texts like the ones he saw Wednesday night, which read:

 

_From ; ♫ MY LIFE ♬ ; 8:12 p.m._

_If you’re not feeling well, make sure to get a full night’s rest. Drinking water frequently helps, too._

 

_From ; ♫ MY LIFE ♬ ; 8:14 p.m._

_Try not to stress yourself out. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, okay?_

 

And Namjoon straight up has to squeeze his eyes shut, hold his head in his hands because he’s going to fucking _vomit_ ; not just his whole lunch and dinner, but words and _feelings_ and everything in him and he’s not going to be able to piece it all back together.

 

Amazingly, he doesn’t throw up anything ever. But he comes _this_ close, like a _tenth of a second_ close to falling headfirst into his bathtub and just going _fuck it_ \-- only, he doesn’t trip, because Hoseok grabs his arm and says, “Yep, time to go to bed.”

 

Namjoon feels like he’s underwater most of the time; when he pulls himself out of bed, when he takes notes in class, when he eats lunch, when he drives home, when he sits down at his desk and does his homework. And after rolling around on his bed, Thursday night, feeling like fucking shit and struggling to find a comfortable position he finally makes a resolution to himself -- he’s gonna be honest. He’s gonna come clean. He’s a fucking terrible person that doesn’t deserve Jackson or Suga. He’s gonna tell them.

 

So on Friday night, he walks into work with his shoulders straight, even though it feels like his heart’s so heavy he’s gonna drop onto the floor. Just one more hour. One more fucking hour. Namjoon’s gonna make it.

 

Except, there’s one problem --

 

“Namjoon,” Jinyoung says, ten seconds after Namjoon’s stepped through the front entrance. He freezes; Jinyoung only uses that tone when he wants to talk about something, and there’s no greeting attached to his calling. It’s just a curt, clipped announcement of his name.

 

“Uh, hey, Jinyoung,” Namjoon says weakly (god fucking damnit; how many fucking times has this happened now?). There’s no way that Jinyoung doesn’t know about him and...him and Jackson.

 

Jinyoung folds his arms, and Namjoon flinches. “Jackson told me you haven’t spent any time together this week. At all. He says you didn’t go to his game, and that you weren’t feeling well; you’ve definitely looked like shit for the past five days, so what’s wrong?” he says, and every word feels like a stab into Namjoon’s skin (he sort of needs it all, though, so Namjoon isn’t going to protest).

 

Namjoon swallows, opening his mouth to answer (he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say), but Jinyoung keeps talking.

 

“If you’re terminally ill and you’ve decided you’re not going to tell Jackson, I’m going to fucking kill you and save you the trouble of dying slowly, Kim Namjoon,” Jinyoung bites out, sounding dead serious.

 

“No, I’m not dying,” Namjoon says hurriedly, voice flat. “But I kind of. Wish I was.”

 

And at this, the tension in Jinyoung’s face dissolves completely. He looks around the store, before motioning for Namjoon to come into the back with him, and Namjoon complies.

 

“What’s wrong?” Jinyoung turns to face Namjoon once they’re both out of sight from the front. “And don’t you fucking dare tell me you’re fine; you’re pale as fuck and you look like you’ve just downed a whole bottle of bleach.”

 

Namjoon stares at Jinyoung, and his mind’s racing. He hadn’t thought of what he was going to tell Jinyoung, had completely forgotten that Jinyoung would just _know_ something was up, that he’d ask and demand Namjoon fess up to his crimes. He shuts his eyes and breathes in. _No lying, no lying_ , he thinks to himself. _All you can tell him is the truth._

 

“I’ve fucked up,” Namjoon exhales loudly, and it’s not really what he originally wanted to say, but it pretty much sums up the whole past two weeks of his life.

 

Jinyoung blinks, probably taken aback, and his eyes are swimming with sympathy. Sympathy that Namjoon doesn’t deserve at all.

 

“What’s wrong?” Jinyoung repeats, calm, slow.

 

Namjoon feels his throat dry out, but nope, he’s not gonna throw up, not today.

 

“So you know Suga. And Jackson,” Namjoon says, watching as Jinyoung nods. He breathes in again.

 

Namjoon tells Jinyoung about how he met Jackson and Suga on the same night, tells him about how he started talking to both of them. He tells him about how he started writing lyrics with Suga, the coffee spill, the drive to his house, the nights he had dinner with him and laughed and made music. To Jinyoung’s credit, he doesn’t do the _passionately judging_ stare, not once, and that at least helps keep Namjoon moving, talking.

 

He tells Jinyoung about the basketball games, about the sweaty snapchats and selfies, the lunches, the muscles, the joking around and the talking and the laughing. He tells him about how Jackson had apologized for being missing for a week, about the other lunches, the writing, the _warmth_.

 

He tells him about the date (Jinyoung gets a weird look in his eyes, then; something glossy that Namjoon doesn’t understand), about the shopping, the talking, hand holding and the hand _kissing,_ and when he’s finished, Jinyoung politely tells him that Jackson told him about it. Namjoon nods, just keeps going.

 

When he tells Jinyoung about the date with Suga, it’s like he’s literally taking a knife and stabbing it into his own chest. He tells him about the pocky and the invitation, the expensive dinner, the napkin incident, the time they spent alone at his house, listening to Suga’s music, the kiss Suga gave him on his cheek before he left on his bike.

 

The last thing he tells Jinyoung is that he is very much attracted to _both_ Suga and Jackson, and that for the past week he’s felt like he’s being torn apart (and that he’s also felt nauseous every second of every minute of every hour of every day, so that’s why he looks so pale). He tells Jinyoung like he feels like he’s tearing _people_ apart; _hurting_ them.

 

“I’m gonna tell both of them, tonight,” Namjoon says. He breathes in.

 

“Tell them…” Jinyoung echoes, trailing off, and Namjoon feels so, so hollow.

 

“Tell them I can’t take one and drop the other; I won’t hurt them like that. So I won’t have either. And they can both carry on with their lives and be happy knowing I’m not stomping all over their hearts,” Namjoon says, and it’s like all the air has left his lungs.

 

And Jinyoung’s expression turns _horrified_ , like Namjoon’s just suggested that they make a human sacrifice. Namjoon decides to listen to what he has to say, keeping quiet. A small part of him hopes he’s going to chew Namjoon out for being such an asshole; please, just yell at Namjoon, shake him, punch him, knock some sense into him.

 

“Whoa, no, _no_ , no -- hang on a second,” Jinyoung says, and he almost sounds desperate. “I...you…”

 

For once, it seems that Jinyoung’s lost for words, too.

 

“Why does this matter to you so much?” Namjoon finds himself asking, and Jinyoung winces, obviously not expecting that question. “No, seriously. From day one, ever since I’ve met Jackson, you’ve been asking about how I’ve been with him. Like, if I had his number, if I’m hanging out with him, what I think about him. Why? If you’re so concerned, shouldn’t you be happy I won’t be hurting Jackson anymore?” His voice sounds so pathetic, but he feels lost again and it’s like there’s no way out, no way out.

 

“No!!” Jinyoung snaps, suddenly, but there’s no anger in his voice (it’s...despair?). “No, _no_ , you would be doing the exact opposite! Jackson...Jackson really likes you, and he hasn’t been happy like this since his last boyfriend left for New York!”

 

And...what?

 

“I...what?” Namjoon blinks.

 

The color drains from Jinyoung’s face in an instant, but Jinyoung doesn’t back away.

 

“Before...before you moved here, Jackson had a boyfriend. For five years. They were highschool sweethearts,” Jinyoung says slowly, voice low, and Namjoon feels numb. “They were the perfect couple. The kind everyone gagged at but knew they’d get married as soon as they were legal and probably adopt fifty kids. And they -- they would have, I know it, but he...he was forced to move to New York, after his first year of college.”

 

Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. Should he say anything at all?

 

“Jackson loved him, Namjoon, he loved him _so fucking much_ . It broke his heart when he left. He -- he would barely _smile_ for one whole fucking _year_ ,” Jinyoung’s voice is cracking, and-- and Namjoon can’t imagine Jackson not smiling, not laughing, can’t imagine Jackson _not happy_ . It’s -- it’s _impossible_ , right? For someone so spectacularly heartwarming, so golden, so _joyful_ , to not be able to smile.

 

Namjoon doesn’t look away when Jinyoung looks up at him. “Please think about this. You can’t just jump headfirst into a decision like this.”

 

“I’ve had a week,” Namjoon croaks. He had it all sorted out last night, had everything chosen and neatly organized, but now...now…

 

“I know,” Jinyoung says, sharp, and then his voice softens. “Just...please wait. And talk to Jackson. Tell him how you feel about him and ask him how _he_ feels.”

 

“I...alright,” Namjoon caves, and it’s like he’s letting all of his walls come crashing down. But then -- “What about Suga?”

 

Jinyoung blinks behind his black rim glasses. He purses his lips, then says, “I’ll stay and meet him. And you have to ask him how he feels, too, and then we can make _small_ decisions, alright?” When Namjoon nods, Jinyoung adds, “Just don’t be reckless. Please.”

 

“Okay,” is all Namjoon says. And then he waits until six fifteen.

 

\--

 

Namjoon has his eyes on his phone all the way until six fifteen rolls around, just like the night he was waiting for Jackson the second night. His stomach is churning and his heart is beating and the nausea is back in full swing, but Namjoon is _not_ going to throw up in this poor twelve year old’s hot chocolate, nope.

 

And then it’s time, it’s six fifteen, and tonight, Jinyoung doesn’t disappear for a bathroom break. He just nods in Namjoon’s direction, and Namjoon nods back, swallowing.

 

Hearing the sound of Jackson’s bike sends Namjoon into a weird daze, and he has to sort of pinch himself to start thinking straight again. _You can do this_ , he tells himself. _You_ will _do this._

 

And then the door opens, and in comes a flash of platinum blonde hair and a full black color palette, and Namjoon sees a smile light up Jackson’s face (he could honestly go blind, right here, right now).

 

“Oh, thank _god_ , I was so worried about you, babe!” Jackson is calling loudly, and too late, Namjoon’s already smiling back, because it’s impossible _not_ to smile at Jackson. The word babe lingers in the air of the room and suddenly, Namjoon feels warm.

 

“I got his mocha,” Jinyoung is saying behind Namjoon, and Namjoon jumps. He gives a tiny nod, and then Jinyoung continues, “Now talk to him. Please.”

 

Namjoon swallows, walking up to the counter, meeting with Jackson’s eyes. His fingertips are already moving, punching in Jackson’s order.

 

“So, what’s up? It feels like I haven’t seen you in _ages_ ,” Jackson grins, already handing Namjoon the money, and he realizes Jackson doesn’t have to say anything about his order at all. It’s all reflex.

 

“It’s been...a week. Been feeling kind of tired lately,” Namjoon sniffs, sliding the money into the register.

 

Jackson leans a little closer onto the counter, and Namjoon doesn’t pull away. “Are you feeling okay, babe? Like, I know you’ve been sick and stuff, but you look pale, have you been taking care of yourself okay?”

 

Namjoon bites down on his tongue. _Say it_ , he shouts wordlessly, _Say it, you fucker, just say it_.

 

“I’ve actually...been wanting to talk to you about something,” Namjoon finally says, and when Jackson blinks, he quickly adds, “I’m fine, I promise, it’s nothing physical.”

 

“Yeah, right,” comes Jinyoung’s voice from behind, and Namjoon freezes up. He sees Jackson’s face twisting up with worry, and Namjoon jumps to speak before he can ask anymore questions.

 

“I wanted to ask you how you really feel about me,” Namjoon blurts out, and it...kind of sounds stupid, hanging in the space between them, but it’s the truth. It’s what he wanted to ask. “Like, do you...want us to be a thing, or do you like me as in casual dating?” and all Namjoon can do is wait.

 

And then Jackson…

 

Jackson smiles.

 

“Kim Namjoon,” Jackson rolls his name around like it’s a piece of candy, like he’s savoring the taste of it, and Namjoon feels his skin warm. “I really, genuinely, wholly like you. And yeah, I wanna be your man, and I’m, ah, sorry I didn’t clear that up before, but I really do like you.”

 

And Namjoon kind of feels like each word is singed into his mind, a kind of burn that etches a scar slicing deeper than the layer of his skin. Because the _weight_ of what Jackson has just said -- it’s just -- so --

 

“You, ah. Like me,” Namjoon echoes, like he has to make sure this is all real.

 

“I like you,” Jackson echoes back, and he doesn’t look away from Namjoon, doesn’t stop _smiling_.

 

Namjoon says something that’s meant to be an acknowledgement, but his voice is strained and he can barely even understand himself. But Jackson must get the point, because he just grins a little widers and says, “Why? What’s up?”

 

Namjoon is shaking all over, and his skin is burning up and he opens his mouth to let whatever words are are stuffed behind his teeth tumble out.

 

“I just wanted to be sure, before, y’know, taking any steps forward,” Namjoon says, and no, _no_ this isn’t what he wanted to say, but -- “Because I really like you, too, but I’m scared of hurting you.”

 

And there. He’s said...half of the truth. Where’s the rest, Namjoon? Where is it?

 

And Jackson tilts his head, looking at Namjoon from a lower angle, and Namjoon swallows. What does Jackson see in Namjoon? How is there anything that intrigues him to the point where he _likes_ Namjoon?.

 

“Well, y’know, even if you did, I’d forgive you,” Jackson says, and Namjoon’s heart is beating fast, his blood’s pumping, and then he feels Jinyoung tapping his shoulder.

 

“Here,” Jinyoung says, and he’s placing Jackson’s mocha in Namjoon’s hands. He gives Namjoon another strange, unreadable look, before he pulls away without another word.

 

Namjoon turns back to Jackson, and he carefully hands over his drink. “Here you go,” he says, as Jackson takes the drink. But Jackson...doesn’t let go.

 

Namjoon looks up, up at Jackson, who’s looking back, and oh. Fuck. Jackson’s so -- so handsome, and Namjoon is just _mesmerized_ \-- gorgeous brown eyes that sing when Namjoon looks into them, silver stud piercing to match the two in his ear, the most genuine smile filled with all the starlight in the universe --

 

Before he can process anything else, Jackson’s moving the drink into his other hand, and he’s lifting Namjoon’s hand again, and oh, this feels familiar --

 

Jackson’s kissing his hand. Again.

 

And it feels…

 

...perfect.

 

It’s hot to the touch, lips tracing a shape, an imprint on Namjoon’s skin, and he’s too aware of how nice they feel on his knuckles, just like before. It’s like an ember stitched into his bones, a flame blazing to life beneath his cheeks, but Namjoon doesn’t pull away, doesn’t look away.

 

Or more, Namjoon _can’t_ pull away, and he _can’t_ look away -- it’s like there’s some warmth tugging him close, drawing him in. It’s comforting and buoyant and Namjoon must be a moth, and Jackson

 

And then Jackson lets his hand fall, and Namjoon blinks.

 

“I gotta leave early; work tonight,” Jackson sighs, and his eyes are on Namjoon. He lifts his drink to his lips, says, “Text me, okay? I’ll answer any questions, whatever you want to know. As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with math.”

 

And Namjoon laughs, and his shoulders are shaky just like his breath. “Yeah,” he nods at Jackson.

 

“I’ll see ya, babe,” Jackson winks at Namjoon, before he’s out the door, driving away, leaving Namjoon with Jinyoung and aroma of warm coffee.

 

Namjoon watches at Jackson’s bike vanishes, and he realizes how fucking _dry_ his throat is (also warm, and...happy).

 

And then everything just falls down on Namjoon, all the sweet words and the unsaid questions and Namjoon feels nauseous all over again. He squeezes his eyes shut, thinks of Jackson kissing his hand, calling him babe, winking at him, telling he _liked him_.

 

“Oh my god, strike me down where I stand,” Namjoon stutters out after a moment, nails digging into the heels of his palms.

 

Namjoon gets at least three seconds of silence to himself, before Jinyoung is at his side. “Are you okay?” he’s asking, voice wavering just slightly.

 

Namjoon raises his hand limply, offering a tired thumbs up. Hopefully that’s enough to convince Jinyoung thing’s are sort of okay.

 

Jinyoung looks Namjoon up and down (probably a sign he’s not convinced), pressing his lips together.

 

“Did you get to talk about what you wanted?” Jinyoung asks slowly.

 

Namjoon stares at Jinyoung. “You...didn’t hear?”

 

Jinyoung frowns, pushing his black rim glasses up by the frame. “No, I -- that sort of thing is between the two of you.”

 

Namjoon laughs weakly. “Well, yeah, until I get interrogated by you,” he says sarcastically.

 

“I mean, I didn’t want to seem like I was eavesdropping,” Jinyoung says tersely, looking off to the side.

 

Namjoon sighs, exasperated. “Okay, well. Jackson does like me. And I sort of told him I liked him back.”

 

Jinyoung hums, nodding. “Well, that’s good, right?”

 

“No, it’s not; I didn’t tell him about Suga,” Namjoon groans, and he kind of wants to crush himself against the ground.

 

Jinyoung cocks his head to the side, nose twitching. “You know Jackson’ll forgive you, right?”

 

“How’d you know he said that? I thought you said you weren’t listening,” Namjoon squints at Jinyoung, who shrugs in response.

 

“I wasn’t,” Jinyoung snorts. “I just know Jackson.”

 

It’s reassuring, but only slightly, and Namjoon still feels doubt deep in his skin. Can Jackson actually forgive Namjoon for something as terrible as this? Namjoon is hurting Jackson _so much_ , he doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.

 

“Look, just hold yourself together until Suga shows up at, uh, ten, right?” Jinyoung is pinching the left side of his glasses frame as he speaks. “I’m staying with you, remember? I’ll be here.”

 

“Ten thirty. But, yeah. I’ll try,” Namjoon swallows, and already, he’s thinking of mint hair and the prettiest piano piece he’s ever heard in his life.

 

\--

 

Ten thirty comes around quickly, with Jinyoung helping him keep tabs on the clock. It’s nice that Jinyoung is there for once, staying even when his shift’s done, and he even stays close to the counter, telling Namjoon he’ll be okay, just breathe in and out (at one point Namjoon just laughs because it’s like he’s giving breathing exercises for labor or something).

 

The whole wait, Namjoon just tells himself to keep fucking calm and make coffee, and it must be sort of working, because now he’s not working so much like a goddamn android.

 

And then it’s ten thirty.

 

Suga’s bike is already pulling in, and the door’s being pushed open and Namjoon sees bright, mint-green hair.

 

Their eyes meet, and oh, _oh_ ; there’s a look of relief washing over Suga’s eyes but it’s replaced with concern almost instantaneously, and Namjoon realizes it’s his fault. He made Suga worry. He made him anxious. He made Suga and Jackson worried.

 

“Evening,” Namjoon greets, and he wonders if his knuckles are turning white (he’s clenching his fist so tightly.

 

“Evening,” Suga says back, and it just takes one second for him to stop at the counter and say, “You don’t look like you’re feeling okay. You haven’t been well all week, but...you’re working?” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Somehow, I feel like that’s a bad idea.”

 

Namjoon starts laughing, again, because Suga’s blunt-force sarcasm never fails to strike a chord with him.  

 

“Oh, tell me about it,” it’s Jinyoung talking, and Namjoon wants to say it’s all good, he’s got this, but. No. Jinyoung said he wanted to meet Suga. And right now, that’s exactly what he’s doing.

 

Suga blinks over at Jinyoung, but there’s no emotion in his eyes. “Have we met?” he says, as if he’s trying to remember seeing Jinyoung, and he’s handing Namjoon the money.

 

“No, but Namjoon tells me about you,” Jinyoung shakes his head, smiling lightly. “Jinyoung. Friend of Namjoon’s.”

 

Namjoon looks from Suga, to Jinyoung, and then back to Suga. And then he decides to turn and make Suga’s frappuccino, because a) it’s not gonna make itself and b) Jinyoung maybe wants to talk to Suga alone.

 

Namjoon is actually able to semi-tune out the little conversation the two of them are having, and the most he catches is Jinyoung laughing about something. He definitely wants to know what they’re saying, but he keeps his attention on Suga’s drink.

 

The whole time he’s trying to figure out what he’s gonna tell Suga. Because he already told Jackson he liked him. And. That’s. A thing? So what does he tell Suga? There is _no_ fucking way he’s gonna tell him he _doesn’t_ like him; he couldn’t bring himself to lie?

 

When he’s done, he makes his way over to the takeout counter, sliding it over to Suga, who gives Jinyoung a nod before taking his drink up.

 

As Namjoon passes off the drink, their fingers touch, and _fuck_ , they’re looking right at each other. Right in the eyes. Namjoon feels a chill run up and down his spine as he takes Suga in. Skin, cool to the touch, pale, like ice -- his eyes, dark brown, hiding and revealing emotions all at once to Namjoon, a smile he wishes he could see more often because it’s so _beautiful_ , could put a crescent moon to shame --

 

And then their fingers disconnect, and Namjoon breathes again.

 

But Namjoon realizes -- in that one second, he’s lost all the words he’s wanted to say. They’re all forgotten; thrown out the window. No, he can’t ask Suga about this, he can’t --

 

“What’s wrong?” Suga is blinking at Namjoon, and fuck, _fuck_ he’s noticed.

 

Namjoon swallows, and he’s beginning to panic, and it’s like he’s forgotten how to speak at all. He starts remembering Jackson, him taking his hand and kissing it, but then he -- he remembers Suga kissing him on the cheek.

 

“Um,” is all Namjoon gets out. Pathetic, embarrassing.

 

And this must cause some terrible spiral of thoughts to fire off in Suga’s mind, because Namjoon thinks he can see the confusion blossoming in his eyes, with alarm and anxiety and shit _shit shit_ , he really needs Jinyoung to slap him right now --

 

“Oh, did I,” Suga licks his lips, and _nnno, stop it right there, halt, abort_ \-- “Did I make you upset last weekend?”

 

 _No_ , Namjoon wants to yell. _You made me feel happy and comfortable and it was undoubtedly one of the nicest nights of my entire fucking life; I’ll remember every detail for the rest of my existence_. Except…

 

There’s no sound from Namjoon’s throat. At all.

 

Namjoon feels terrible, _horrible_ , because Suga looks so confused and _worried_ , but Namjoon doesn’t know what to fucking say (he doesn’t even know if he knows how to speak at this point). He blinks over at Suga, and there are thoughts in motion, but everything is moving too fast, and he can’t _speak_ . He just -- _stares_.

 

He can’t lie, he needs to tell the truth, but it’s like his entire body’s shutting down. He has to tell Suga he likes him, but what then? What then? Namjoon is so _scared_ , because he can’t think of an answer; can’t think of _anything_ . He’s going to _hurt_ Suga, he’s going to _hurt_ Jackson.

 

Suddenly, Namjoon can hear Jackson, right in front of him, telling him that he likes him, that he’d forgive him even if he hurt him --

 

And then the most awful thing happens.

 

“I...,” Suga clears his throat, and Namjoon realizes that a solid two minutes of quiet have passed. “I’ll go, then.” Namjoon blinks. “Goodnight, Namjoon.” And if Namjoon could he’d reach right over the fucking counter, grab his pretty, expensive jacket and shout out _Wait a second, no, stop_ \-- but Namjoon is frozen, right to the core.

 

Namjoon watches Suga turn, watches him leave, and it feels like he’s witnessing some horrible turn of events in a foreign drama, and he’s absolutely _helpless, worthless_. By the time Suga’s out the door Jinyoung is actually shaking Namjoon by the shoulders, he’s actually reaching over the takeout counter and yelling something in his face.

 

“What the _fuck_ was that; what the fuck _are you doing_?” Jinyoung is spitting, and he sounds frantic. Namjoon feels thoughts forming in his head and words bubbling up in his throat, finally, and he kind of wants to ask Jinyoung why he’s so upset, doesn’t he want Namjoon to be with Jackson?

 

“You _idiot_ , fucking -- get your ass out there and _go after him_!” Jinyoung is getting louder and louder, and it almost feels like Namjoon’s been shot.

 

And then Namjoon is running.

 

There’s a rush of adrenaline in his veins, surging through his whole body, and Namjoon is sprinting out that stupid door, crashing outside and he looks around for bright, mint green hair, looks for Suga, and -- _there_ \-- there he is -- he’s putting his helmet on and Namjoon is reaching out and he feels the fabric of his pretty jacket under his fingertips.

 

“Suga, wait, please,” Namjoon begs, pleads. Maybe he should get down on his knees, grovel for forgiveness (does he really deserve it, though?).

 

Suga pauses, looking at Namjoon, and there are too many emotions dancing in the light of his eyes for Namjoon to tell what he’s thinking. Namjoon tightens his grip on his jacket, stands up straight and moves beside him, closer to him than before.

 

“I need to know,” Namjoon doesn’t recognize the garbled sound of his own voice, how distorted it sounds, but he pushes on. “I need to know, how do you -- how do you really feel about me? Do you want something...something casual, or -- or more, because I really l-like -- ”

 

Oh. Suga’s looking at him, with those eyes -- beautiful and iridescent, and the stars are reflected in them like flecks of silver, and Namjoon’s positively transfixed, but then he realizes.

 

Suga’s eyes are going wide, and his lips are moving, and he recognizes the word _Namjoon_ , his own name, but for some reason, he doesn’t hear it. In fact, he doesn’t hear anything at all. It’s almost like...like…

 

...and then he feels it.

 

A stab of pain, slicing into his shoulder like a switchblade, and it. Ah. It hurts.

 

Namjoon glances down at his left shoulder, and it almost looks like a rose has bloomed in the white material of his shirt -- a brilliant, healthy, rose, petals flourishing in Namjoon’s skin -- but that’s not a flower. It’s blood. Lots, and lots and lots of blood.

 

And then he hears Suga, his voice like a distant melody, something classical and soft, that could sing Namjoon to sleep, and he sees, feels Suga reaching out to hold him in his arms, because Namjoon is falling.

 

There’s an awful ringing in his ears, like the kind of sound Namjoon hears after watching a hip hop concert, but he can hear Suga saying his name, over and over and over, and his face is right over Namjoon’s. He sounds worried, like he’s in a panic, and Namjoon wants to shush him, tell him he’s okay, but wow, he’s just been shot. Never thought that would happen.

 

So Namjoon reaches a hand out for Suga’s face (he might have completely missed him, but whatever), and he thinks, he _thinks_ he tells Suga “I’m okay, don’t worry about me,” but then everything fades to --

 

\--

 

“ -- or more, because I really l-like -- ”

 

Namjoon doesn’t finish his sentence.

 

Suga hears the gunshot, _feels_ the bullet fly right past his ear, hurtling at god knows how many miles per hour, but what tips him over the edge is the sound of the bullet making contact with flesh.

 

And it’s not Suga’s.

 

Suga’s eyes flicker over to Namjoon’s shoulder, and _no_ , oh _god_ , _no no no no no no no_ \--

 

“Namjoon -- ” Suga croaks, and for the first time in nine years he feels truly helpless, watching as blood soaks the fabric of Namjoon’s shirt.

 

His arms are around Namjoon’s torso, his body responding on pure reflex (he doesn’t even realize he’s moving), and he’s holding Namjoon. Holding a bleeding, dazed, _hurt_ Namjoon.

 

Suga slumps to the ground, keeping Namjoon’s head close to his chest, and he looks around frantically for the shooter, but there’s _no one_ , the fucking coward is _gone,_ only the sound of a fucking motorbike driving away, and it’s just Suga and Namjoon.

 

Suga looks down at Namjoon, who’s still so fucking _beautiful_ , and he moves his hands to cup his face -- and it all spills out.

 

“Namjoon, Namjoon, _Namjoon, Namjoon,_ _Namjoon_ \-- ” Suga holds his gorgeous face, staring into his eyes and Namjoon’s looking right back at him. “Namjoon, Namjoon -- ”

 

And then Namjoon’s raising his left hand, limply, like he’s searching through the dark for a light switch, and he feels him trying to hold his jaw, his soft fingers, his perfect, _perfect_ hands, so much cleaner than Suga’s own, touching his face.

 

“It’s okay, don’t worry about me,” Namjoon’s voice is too sharp, too clear, and the instant he feels his hand slipping from his skin, Suga’s own hand darts up to catch it. _His_ hands are dirty, unclean, but he presses Namjoon’s palm to his cheek, because _no, this can’t be happening, this can’t be_ \--

 

“Namjoon, are you alright? I heard a gunsho -- ”

 

It’s Jinyoung, who must be standing in the doorway, but Suga doesn’t look away from Namjoon for a single second.

 

“H-holy fuck,” Jinyoung is swearing, and Suga hears a gasp. Suga tightens his grip on Namjoon.

 

“I’m going to call -- call an ambulance, Jesus fucking Christ, w-what happened?” Suga hears Jinyoung taking his phone out of his pocket, and he feels something rise and burst in his chest.

 

“No, _no_!” Suga almost roars, and he runs his fingers through Namjoon’s hair. He calms himself, sucks in a deep breath. “No, I’ll handle it myself, just make sure everyone in the store is safe.”

 

When there’s a silence, Suga throws Jinyoung a warning look over his shoulder. “An attempt was just made on my life. I’ll take care of Namjoon, I promise -- just don’t call anyone. He’ll get the care he needs.”

 

And Suga’s already fumbling with the pockets of his jacket, unlocking his phone with blinding speed, and he finds the one contact he’s already called once this month. Before he presses call, he hears a cough from below him.

 

“M-mother _fucker_ , oh s-shit, that f-fucking h- _hurts_ .” It’s Namjoon, gasping for breath, but he’s breathing and _conscious_ and _in pain_ and Suga holds him closer.

 

“Namjoon, it’s gonna be alright, just hold on,” Suga says, close to Namjoon’s face.

 

“Well, at least that means he’s slightly fine,” Jinyoung says, now standing right beside them. “But, er, how are you...going to get him there? I mean, to the hospital.”

 

Suga glowers at Jinyoung; what, does he think Suga’s just going to drape Namjoon over his bike and take him from there? “How do you think,” he deadpans.

 

“On your fucking bike? Um, I don’t think so,” Jinyoung frowns at Namjoon, arms folded and.

 

“Don’t test me,” Suga says darkly, because Namjoon is fucking bleeding out in his arms, he’s _hurt_.

 

Jinyoung sighs, and he starts removing his cardigan before Suga can say anything more. “Fine, fine, Jesus, I just want to make sure my friend’s going to be alright,” he mutters, and as he pulls off his left sleeve, kneeling down next to them, Suga realizes Jinyoung is shaking. “Here, I’m gonna dress his wound. Now fucking call your underground doctor, or whatever, so Namjoon doesn’t die of blood loss in front of a fucking Starbucks.”

 

Suga removes his hand from Namjoon’s own, and Namjoon is squirming, groaning as Jinyoung begins to tie his cardigan around the wound. Reluctantly, Suga lifts his arm, but he keeps his eyes on Namjoon as he hits the call button and waits for an answer.

 

 _“Hello? Suga? What’s up?”_ comes the familiar yawn over the line.

 

“I need another favor,” Suga gets straight to the point.

 

 _“Oh. Okay, sure, for what?”_ the voice sounds a little tired, like he’s just woken up from a nap.

 

Suga’s about to answer, but Namjoon yells a very pronounced “ _Fuck_!!” into the night sky, and before Suga can give a proper answer, he gets his response.

 

 _“Ah, gotcha. Address?”_ he says, now sounding wide awake.

 

“Starbucks. Free zone,” Suga says quickly. It _hurts_ to hear Namjoon shouting in pain, hurts to see him struggling against Jinyoung as he tries to finish up the knot in the cardigan.

 

 _“Free zone? You mean there was an idiot that broke code?”_ the voice says, sounding bewildered, and he hears him mutter the address away from the speaker, probably to whomever’s going to send help.

 

“I’m bringing in a civilian who’s been shot; someone just tried to blow my fucking brains out,” Suga says flatly. He’s already thinking of way to end this fucker’s life once he finds him.

 

 _“Oh, okay, okay, I see,”_ the voice says, sounding surprised. _“So I’m going to assume you want to set up watch? Find this fucker, fuck him up?”_

 

Suga clenches his jaw. “Later. Please, just tell me you’re going to have a room set aside for this patient,” he says, and then he looks over to Namjoon, whose eyes are squeezed shut tight. “I need it private. No outside intrusion.”

 

 _“Mmm, okay, sure, I can do that,”_ the voice says, and Suga can hear indistinct orders being relayed again, probably to some grunt.

 

After a beat, Suga bites his tongue, then says, “Thanks.”

 

There’s a short pause, and then laughter from the other end. _“Oh, lighten up; it’s cool. It’s just a civilian that’s gonna get patched up, it hardly counts as a real favor.”_

 

And oh, Namjoon is _not_ ‘just a civilian’, but Suga keeps his mouth shut.

 

“Yeah. Just get here fast,” Suga says, and when he’s sure he’s been heard, ends the call.

 

In less than a second, Suga has pocketed his phone, and without another thought, holds Namjoon’s face again, ignoring the look Jinyoung is giving him.

 

“Namjoon, we’re gonna get help, just a little longer,” Suga soothes, leaning down close, and miraculously, Namjoon’s flailing actually slows, eventually halting completely.

 

Namjoon lets out a shaky, _pained_ breath. “Am I going to get alcohol while I’m resting? Because I’m thinking now’s a good time to start taste testing.”

 

“No, you won’t, or I’m going to fucking call Hobi,” Jinyoung shakes his head, sounding like a lecturing parent.

 

At this, Namjoon seems to spring to life, eyes widening. “Oh, holy _fuck_ , what the fuck am I going to tell _Hobi_?!” he wails, as if the thought of telling Hobi of his injury is more distressing than the injury itself.

 

“Oh my god, you _dipshit_ , wait until you have your head on straight before making calls.” Jinyoung is rolling his eyes.

 

“I have my head on straight!” Namjoon protests, but he winces when he moves just the slightest.

 

“No, you don’t, you’re fucking gay,” Jinyoung says, matter-of-factly.

 

Suga watches as they throw comments back and forth, his thoughts a mix of horror and amusement and fascination at how Namjoon can be so fucking _normal_ after just being shot. He knows Jinyoung isn’t all dry humor and sarcastic remarks, though; the fear is evident in his eyes and in the tremble of his shoulders. He’s trying to distract Namjoon, trying to calm him down.

 

The ambulance shows up not two minutes later, red, flashing lights, and Suga helps carry Namjoon onto the stretcher. He blinks at his motorbike, back to Namjoon, and then to Jinyoung.

 

“When you see two men, one with black hair, the shorter with brown, pull up on one bike, just let them know where my bike is,” Suga directs at Jinyoung, who blinks in surprise. “I need someone to take my bike home,” he says, when Jinyoung’s confusion doesn’t lessen any.

 

“Oh. Um, okay,” Jinyoung says, and Suga realizes he’s shivering in the cold, hugging his arms.

 

“Namjoon’s going to be alright. I promise,” Suga says, one foot in the ambulance. He swallows, looking at Jinyoung as he nods. “Thank you,” he says, before he steps into the ambulance and shuts the door softly behind him.

 

Suga slides over to the empty seat, looking down at Namjoon as he’s squirming uncomfortably on the stretcher. They’re treating his wound for real, now, peeling Jinyoung’s cardigan off, and before they place it on the ground Suga tells them to leave it on the side table.

 

He texts Jungkook and Jimin quickly, a simple, _Pick up my bike at Free Zone; emergency. I’ll call you._ before he pockets his phone once more and moves a little closer to Namjoon, who seems to be calming down, breathing shallow, but slowly beginning to even out.

 

And Suga just...looks at Namjoon, who’s not dying, but is very much hurt and bleeding. And there’s a sort of contented, warm feeling in his chest, because Namjoon...he was going to tell Suga he liked him. But other than Namjoon’s name, there’s an overwhelming sense of guilt swirling around Suga’s thoughts, because this is _his_ fault, _he_ put him on this stretcher, _he’s_ the reason he’s bleeding out.

 

 _This_ _is all your fucking fault,_ Suga hears in his head, over and over. His fault, his fault, it’s _all his fault_ \--

 

“Hey, so,” Namjoon’s voice breaks through Suga’s thoughts. Suga looks up to meet his eyes. “This is kind of not the best time, but you. You never answered my question.”

 

And Suga’s shoulders stiffen; right. Namjoon deserves a straight answer. His forces himself to relax, swallowing.

 

“You never finished asking,” he says back, hands in his pockets (he would much rather have them in Namjoon’s hair, or on his hand, his face).

 

Namjoon coughs a little. “You aren’t going to make me say it again, are you?” he says, blinking up at Suga.

 

Suga can’t stop the smile from spreading on his lips. “You don’t turn in incomplete sentences for homework, do you?”

 

Already, there’s a pink flush in Namjoon’s cheeks, and he looks so fucking cute, and Suga sees him swallows hard.

 

“Uh, n-no,” Namjoon stutters, blinking off to the side. And after a second, when neither Suga nor Namjoon speak up, Namjoon looks him right in the eye and says, “I really l-like you.”

 

And everything in Suga’s world feels like it’s being put back together.

 

“S-so?” Namjoon looks absolutely flustered, fingers curling and uncurling against the stretcher.

 

Suga blinks. There are so many things he could say (or do) to answer him. Namjoon is so special, so wonderful, so gorgeous, even if he’s shot to hell, and after one more moment of thought, decides on his answer.

 

“I dunno; I’m feeling pretty serious about this,” Suga sighs, as he leans forward and gives Namjoon a kiss on the forehead.

 

Suga stays there for a moment, eyes closed -- a part of him is amazed that he’s worked up the courage to make such a bold statement followed up with such a bold move -- but he feels that this is...right. That he should do this; that he should -- that he should _try_ this.

 

When Suga pulls away with reluctance, he sees that Namjoon’s blinking rapidly, face a pretty crimson. He’s so fucking cute.

 

“Blood rushing to your face?” Suga licks his lips, and he’s feeling a little more confident, and much more relaxed now that Namjoon is, more or less, okay. “Probably a better place for it could go.”

 

Namjoon chokes. “H-haha, hilarious,” he says, and at least he’s smiling wide now.

 

“Can you give him some space? We’re going to apply pressure,” one of the paramedics says from the side, and Suga blinks.

 

“Yeah,” he nods, and his eyes are on Namjoon, who’s looking right back at him.

 

Suga begins to wonder who the fuck had the _audacity_ to fucking shoot Namjoon back at that Starbucks. Granted, they had to have been aiming for _Suga_ , but that’s not a fucking excuse -- he’s going to grind them down to their _bones_ the second he gets his hands on him, if the others don’t get to him first for breaking code. But he’ll at _least_ get a few good punches to his jaw, maybe shoot _his_ fucking shoulder. He _hurt_ Namjoon, nearly had him killed -- but...but Suga also shares the blame; it’s because of his own presence that Namjoon nearly died.

 

“I’m sorry,” Suga finds himself saying, fingers resting over Namjoon’s own, so perfect, so clean. When Namjoon blinks at him, Suga continues. “For getting you hurt. This is my fault.”

 

Namjoon suddenly winces, it must be from the pressure, and then he squeezes Suga’s hand. Suga doesn’t pull away.

 

“D-don’t be,” Namjoon says, and his hand doesn't move away. “I mean, uh, better my shoulder than your head, huh?”

 

And Suga can't help but laugh, because _fuck_ , how can Namjoon be so fucking cute? He could lean down and kiss him, on the lips, his dimples, all over, breathe his scent in and just hold him. Suga's so fucking lucky.

 

Suga doesn't let go of his hand for the rest of the ride.

 

\--

 

Night shifts can be real boring sometimes.

 

But hospital patrols aren't so bad, because Jackson gets to learn how to do shit like CPR, see how stitches are done, learn how to set bones, cool medical stuff like that. He's really not supposed to be talking so much with all of the nurses, but he gets _curious_ , and they're all super friendly. So in retrospect, it's sort of inevitable that Jackson learns all this cool medical stuff.

 

The only downside of hospital patrol is that it lasts literally _all night_ ; until two in the morning, to be precise. And sometimes, all the nurses are so busy, they can't talk to Jackson, so Jackson’s stuck with a normal hospital patrol as opposed to a fun hospital patrol (not that Jackson doesn’t do his work, because he does! He just likes to have company when he does it). At least the nurses are nice enough to let Jackson do other stuff to help out, like fold the hospital gowns and organize the face masks and gloves.

 

Tonight, Jackson's learned about how to put pressure on a bleeding wound, like on a bad cut or even a gunshot. Jackson supposes he'll actually get to put that information to good use sometime in the future, since cuts are the most common type of injury, and gunshots aren't all that uncommon in his line of work.

 

But other than that, night shift is quiet, uneventful. And yeah, it's nice, but once Jackson's finished cleaning everything up in the storage room, he's left to just walk around the hospital (which is actually the only thing he's supposed to be doing, haha).

 

As he's passing through the child center, watching the little toddlers stacking blocks and dragging crayons over papers (and the floor, haha, the nurses are going to have a seizure), there's something about their bright smiles that remind Jackson about Namjoon.

 

Namjoon, who’s always so sweet -- with how he listens to all the dumb shit Jackson has to talk about. And it was so sweet of him to ask how Jackson felt about him, but it was even sweeter when he said he didn't want to hurt Jackson.

 

“Fuck, he's so cute,” Jackson says aloud, even as a nurse passes him, because he's remembering the flustered look Namjoon had on his face, right after he had kissed his hand. What would his face look like if Jackson kissed him on the lips?

 

“Oh, Jackson.” one of the nurses stops near Jackson, tapping him on the shoulder.

 

“What's up, Sana?” Jackson smiles, flicking his bangs back. “Got another heart surgery lecture for me? ‘Cause I'm really bored right now.”

 

“Nope, but I'll have one for you next Thursday. Anyways, we got a request from your leader; says he wants a guard posted at one of the private rooms,” Sana says, looking past her shoulder. “It's room two hundred and ten; you can't miss it. There are lots of people outside; I'll leave it to you to clear everyone out.”

 

“Ooh, exciting; what happened, who’s hurt?” Jackson smiles. Private rooms aren't usually used unless it's something _really_ serious; it _has_ to be gang related.

 

“Civilian injury. Dunno much more than that,” Sana sighs, turning back to Jackson.

 

“Civilian?” Jackson parrots, taken aback. That's...odd. A private room for a civilian? They must be something special; maybe it’s someone’s boyfriend or girlfriend. “You know who called them in?”

 

Sana shrugs, drumming her fingers over the top of her clip board. “No clue. Leader said something about a ‘special request,’ so I'm guessing it's...important?” her tone lilts, and she raises one of her eyebrows. She pats Jackson's shoulder, walking past him. “Now go be a guard and do guard stuff. And study for that open heart surgery lecture! I’m not gonna go easy on you!”

 

“Hey! I’m a master of the heart; I know it inside and out!” Jackson calls after her, before jogging off in the direction of room two ten.

 

As Jackson moves by a couple of passing nurses and surgeons, he wonders why they’d have private care for a civilian. Well, more importantly, he wonders _who's_ the special civilian to get a luxury room -- maybe a poor college student that got caught in a crossfire? That’d be mildly traumatizing.

 

Jackson frowns. Have there been any recent skirmishes, though? Or any formal fights? Whatever happened can’t be related to Jackson’s gang, otherwise he would have received an alert from Mark. Also, their leader probably would have directly contacted him to give him the run down of the situation.

 

As Jackson rounds a corner, slowing to a gentle, more lax pace, he picks through the incidents that could possibly be linked to all of this. It probably wasn't Exo; otherwise their guys would be all over the place (they're so tight with security, even at places that aren't theirs). And again, it couldn't have been his own gang; they use _personal_ rooms, not private ones.

 

There was a new gang formed (the Seventeenth?), Jackson doesn't know how long ago, but they're green, so maybe they had a breakout and someone...got trigger happy? And also had really bad aim? Hm, maybe that's pushing it; even new kids should know they’d be flattened if they touched a civilian important to another gang.

 

Then there's...Vixx, and Shinee (Jackson doesn't come up with the names), and their sort of spitfire over that one big, empty lot. But that was at least a month ago, and he's pretty sure they've simmered down from their last formal fight. It’d be stupid for someone to just get crabby over something from a month ago.

 

The only other possible cause is from acquisition Bulletproof had, just a little over a week ago. But Jackson's pretty sure that they’d pretty much kicked that one other gang's ass to the dirt, so…? Maybe not? Maybe there was a skirmish just now, and someone got caught in the middle of it? But why would a _civilian_ be hurt, then? And why would they receive private care?

 

Jackson sighs, rubbing his temples; all the lack of understanding is hurting his head. It's probably just a family member, or something; maybe they broke a bone.

 

When Jackson enters the hall to room two ten, he finds that -- wow, what the heck, that’s a lot of people hanging around outside. There’s a whole gathering of nurses just chatting amongst themselves, hugging the walls, but it's pretty clear they're interested in whatever's in room two ten.

 

Jackson catches a couple of idle comments and questions as he makes his way down the hall. “Who would have the nerve to pull something like this at almost _eleven_?” or “It's so stupid to see shit like this; people need to control themselves,” entail most of the conversation, and maybe it's something minor? As he pushes his way forward through a small circle of nurses, apologizing for getting in their space, he listens in for more details.

 

“Do you know what happened? Where it went down?” Jackson hears from his left. “Free zone violation. That's all I know.” he hears from his right. _Haha_ , Jackson laughs inwardly. Whoever was stupid enough to break code at the _free zone_ is gonna have their ass handed to them --

 

Jackson stops walking.

 

Free zone. Violation.

 

Namjoon and Jinyoung work at that Starbucks. And it's Friday night. Both of them were on shift.

 

Jackson swallows thickly; maybe it's just a minor bump or bruise, maybe someone just passed out --

 

“Gunshot. It was a bloody one, let me tell you,” one of the nurses is saying to their coworker. “Was it to the shoulder or to the chest?” he hears from behind him, and all he can think is _what if it's one of them_ ? What if...what if they're bleeding out? How badly hurt are they? It can’t -- can’t be _fatal_ \--

 

Suddenly, all the voices in the hallway are melding together to make one ugly, disgusting noise and it's just too much and --

 

Jackson starts walking again, slow at first, as he weaves his way past the few nurses lingering near open doorways. He walks faster when he sees the door to room two ten, sees it surrounded by other nurses. He breaks into a run when he meets with a congregate of nurses, and he's pushing and shoving, because _get out of the way_ , _he needs to know who's hurt_ \--

 

“Get back, people! Coffee break!” Jackson shouts over the low hum of conversation, and Jackson everyone to _move, please just_ go --

 

Finally, after a couple of murmurs, the nurses duck their way out of the hallway, a few of them bowing their heads in embarrassment. A part of him feels guilty for raising his voice so suddenly, for being so stern with people who are only being curious, but -- but _priorities_.

 

When the hallway’s cleared, Jackson closes the distance between himself and the door in a single stride. He wraps his hand around the handle, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

 

 _It's going to be fine, nothing's wrong, nothing's wrong, it'll be okay_ , he tells himself, grip tightening around the metal of the handle.

 

 _Please be okay_ , Jackson thinks, before he twists the handle and opens the door.

 

\--

 

Being lifted onto a hospital bed is a weird experience, but being left _alone_ in one is even weirder.

 

The movement from the ambulance to the hospital bed is a blur, and Namjoon can't really point out each specific scene from one another. In fact, the only thing he can really _clearly_ remember is when the world turned dark, and then almost immediately turning too bright (probably the transition from out of the ambulance and into the hospital). He knows that Suga didn't let go of his hand, remembers that he would murmur little words of comfort whenever Namjoon shifted in pain, he knows he _kissed him on the forehead_.

 

Okay, well, maybe Namjoon’s kidding himself when he says he doesn’t remember everything clearly, because he _definitely_ remembers when they were cleaning his wound -- he remembers swearing profusely when they took the bullet out, and feeling ready to die when they were applying whatever disinfectant to his shoulder (he thinks his shouting had started dying down by the time they were properly dressing his wound with gauze). He was lucky the bullet didn't hit bone, otherwise he'd be so _done_.

 

So here Namjoon is, alone, in a too bright for his eyes hospital room.

 

Suga's outside (oh god, did he have to bear witness to all of Namjoon’s screaming?), told Namjoon he was going to call Jimin and Jungkook. He can sort of hear his voice, nice and silky, through the door, but he's so fucking exhausted that he can barely make out any actual words.

 

The only thing keeping Namjoon company is his heartbeat monitor and the painkillers running through his system. The nurses have been gone for a while, his wound already tended to, and though he’s not really enjoying the dull throb in his shoulder, he much prefers the pain to having to think about how he’s going to tell Jackson and Suga about...things. Fuck, what the fuck is he even going to _say_?

 

Namjoon’s told both of them he likes them, and he’s been told by both of _them_ that he, himself, is liked, too, and not for anything shallow -- _seriously_ liked.

 

He’ll...he’ll tell Suga when he’s done with his phone call. And he’ll tell Jackson the next time he sees him (ha, he’ll probably flip his shit when Namjoon tells him he got shot).

 

If Namjoon could move, he’d be tugging at his bangs, because god, being _shot_ is almost easier than this stupid emotional stuff. But alas, he’s really fucking drugged up and can barely even turn his head to look at his heart beat monitor.

 

His eyes are starting to slide shut (because there’s literally nothing else to do except sleep or look around), but when he hears the sound of the door opening, he finds the willpower inside of him to stay awake. He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the urge to sleep.

 

“Sorry, had to entertain two idiots,” Suga is saying, and when Namjoon blinks into focus, he sees him taking a seat at his bedside.

 

“You mean Jimin and Jungkook?” Namjoon hears himself slur, and god, he sounds like he’s just had all four wisdom teeth taken out -- again.

 

“Who?” Suga says, expression flat, and Namjoon laughs weakly as his eyes flutter shut, exhaustion starting to take its toll. It’s when he feels fingers over his own that his eyes fly open.

 

“How are you feeling?” Suga is asking, and the sound of his voice makes Namjoon’s heart beat faster, and the way he asks it, tender and concerned, makes his throat tight.

 

“Not really feeling at all,” Namjoon swallows, and he nearly says _But I’m totally feeling for you and Jackson right now_. Is...is now a good time to tell Suga? Isn’t that what Namjoon wanted? Or should he wait until he’s not high on morphine? Okay, but if he tells Suga’s here, now, isn’t that more...honest?

 

Yeah. No more waiting.

 

Namjoon opens his mouth to say something, when Suga starts talking.

 

“I’m sorry,” Suga says, and Namjoon feels him squeeze his hand (he wonders if he notices the sudden rise in his heart monitor’s BPM). “This is all my fault. I should have never let this happen to you.” His voice is so soft, and his eyes are swimming with something sorrowful, pained.  


“No,” Namjoon coughs, because he really can’t stand how beat up Suga looks and sounds over this, especially when _Namjoon_ is the real jerk here. As he searches for Suga eyes, hidden behind his soft mint bangs, he feels his filter fading. “No, if it’s anyone that should be be apologizing, it’s me.”

 

Suga blinks up at Namjoon, and before he can ask why he would say something like that, Namjoon pushes on.

 

“I need to tell you something,” Namjoon starts, voice cracking pathetically. “And it doesn’t change how I feel about you -- at all, I swear, but it -- it might change how you feel about me,” Namjoon says, and every word is like metal scraping against metal. He swallows. “But it’s important that you hear it; you deserve the truth,” he pauses. “The truth about how much I suck.”

 

And, uh, maybe Namjoon could have worded that more formally, but he’s high, and it’s hard to care about colloquialisms at this point. He feels Suga’s fingers tightening around his again.

 

“I’m listening,” Suga says, gentle, and Namjoon feels dizzy, light-headed.

 

“I’m -- ” Namjoon feels like his mouth is drying out. “I like you. That wasn’t a lie and it never will be, ‘cause I’ve liked you since I cleaned up that coffee spill on that first Friday, or -- or maybe from the second I saw you walk in the front door,” he says, and his heart strains at the sight of the soft flicker in Suga’s eyes, because he looks so _happy_ , and Namjoon doesn’t want to take that away from him -- but Namjoon can’t keep anything in the dar, either; surely _that_ will hurt Suga even _more_.

 

Namjoon swallows one last time. “But I’m a -- a horrible person, because I feel that way about you _and_ s-someone else, and that someone else feels the same way I think you feel about me.”

 

Namjoon pauses, only to breathe in deep, and it’s quiet. Is Suga breathing? Namjoon can’t hear anything from him, can only feel his fingers squeezing tighter, can only see his eyes, but they’re swimming with too many emotions -- again, just like before.

 

“I don’t deserve you and your kindness,” Namjoon chokes out. “I don’t deserve either of you and I -- ” his voice cracks unceremoniously. “ -- I don’t know what to do, because you shouldn’t be hurt by me being stupid and horrible.”

 

Namjoon doesn’t think he’s crying, but he shuts his eyes anyways. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it feels like he’s drowning.

 

“Hey. No,” Suga is saying, and Namjoon doesn’t want to open his eyes, not if it’s to see how hurt Suga is. “I could never hate you for being honest. For caring about how _I_ feel.”

 

And Namjoon just shakes his head slowly, jaw quivering, because no, _no_ \-- Suga doesn’t understand how much of an _asshole_ Namjoon is, he should be disgusted, or shocked, or furious or _hurt_ , but he just doesn’t _let go_ of Namjoon’s hand.

 

But then --

 

Namjoon hears movement, hears Suga moving closer, _feels_ him moving closer, and when Namjoon dares to open his eyes, Suga’s leaning forward. Suga’s -- Suga’s closing the distance between them, and his lips are coming closer and closer and _closer_ \--

 

And then the door swings open.

 

“Namjoon?”

 

It’s Jackson.

 

♪

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you were curious as to how i planned out some of the scenes, here's a very small piece of the planning my beta and i had:
> 
> And sugas like …………..tomorrow u want to……….go out for……...a thing………  
> And nj is just like ye--- wait i cant i have plans for tomorrow  
> And sugas like oh ok……….  
> And nj is just like bUT MAYBE SUNDAY YAH  
> And sugas like conFI deNcE re ST orED


	4. "The definition of terrible: me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Namjoon hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hEy what's up, it's been two weeks, hope you've all been doing well ! and finally !! i can help ya guys up and off of that cliffhanger !! i'll try and get updates out at their usual times, with just a two week gap in between each chapter, but classes are starting, so i apologize if i don't hold up on this end ;; it really is so fun to write these out, and even more so seeing you guys reading it !! i really can't thank you enough for picking up this piece, you're all grade a ++++++, wow ;; if by some chance i don't update on the regular, i'll try and get an interlude chapter out, starring a different cast member !! :0 wonder who it'll be ??? 
> 
> **a quick note:** the word count is only roughly 40k aaa i apologize for not following through with my pattern of making each chapter long than the next ;; nonetheless please please please remember to take breaks whenever possible ! and pls try...not to read this too late at night.....i get so worried thinking about ppl reading in the dark ;;;;;;;;
> 
>  **content notes:** always remember who's the tol cutie barista slash college student: joonie the cutie ;d make sure you send him lots of love !!
> 
> this chapter is !! a lot different than what i've shown you so far ! i hope you can still find it to be entertaining, and i...apologize if you come across anything you had been hoping to avoid going into this fic ;; but again, minimal spoilers, i do hope you can enjoy this read ;;
> 
>  **warnings:** there's really nothing extreme this time around ! of course, there is the reoccurring mention of the same injury as mentioned before, but like before, there's nothing described about it, other than the fact that it's there and that it hurts lmao. painkiller is used, but it's completely for medicinal use. (also: i know next to nothing about how hospitals or clinics or injuries themselves work, forgive me for any/all inaccuracies ;;)
> 
> so with that, i wish you happy readings for chapter 4 ! 'v'

 

♪

 

“Namjoon?”

 

Namjoon feels like the air in his lungs is trapped, and he stares at Jackson as he stands in the doorway. And of course, with his hair gelled to the side, and his pretty cheekbones, Namjoon also feels like he’s dying because _why is Jackson so good looking_ , and also, why...why is he here?

 

It’s silent for a good five seconds, and it’s basically just a weird staring competition held amongst the three of them. Namjoon glances over at Suga (whose face is still _right up next to his_ ), and he sees a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but he doesn’t move away from Namjoon, just stares right at Jackson.

 

Namjoon looks back to Jackson, who’s got his eyes on Suga, and he sees confusion and realization flash over his face in one blur of emotions, brows furrowing and then arching, only to be followed by a flare of anger, and _shit_ , no, he can’t possibly think that --

 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here? You’d better not be here to hurt my babe,” Jackson snarls, and his face darkens in a way Namjoon never thought he’d see Jackson look.

 

“Babe...? Wait, _you’re_ the guy -- ” Suga says, his voice disbelieving, and he’s squinting at Jackson like he’s trying to discern if he’s actually real. His hand shifts over Namjoon’s, squeezing tight, and Namjoon swallows hard, looking from Suga, to Jackson, to Suga, and back to Jackson, who’s glancing down where Namjoon and Suga are connected at the hands.

 

“Get the fuck away from Namjoon!” Jackson shouts, and in less than a second, he’s crossed the room, arm wound up to strike, and he looms over Suga with the most irate expression Namjoon’s ever seen in his life. And suddenly, Jackson’s arm is moving in a blur, but Suga’s quick to move his head out of the way, and catches his fist as he throws a well aimed punch.

 

“No, Jackson, wait a second, _hold on_ \-- ” Namjoon tries to move, putting every ounce of energy he has in him (which, honestly, is next to nothing) to try and move at least his arm or _something_ , but he barely manages to lift even a finger.

 

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, this is a hospital, you _idiot_ ; you could hurt him!” Suga says back, voice rising to a shout, and he wrestles Jackson’s knuckles away from his face, standing up straight to face him in full.

 

“You’re right,” Jackson’s arm relaxes, and Namjoon’s about to praise the lord when Jackson starts talking again. “This _is_ a hospital -- _not_ your territory, so I’m going to have to ask you to _leave_.”

 

Suga’s expression doesn’t change in the slightest. “No, I’m going to stay right here, with Namjoon,” he says, tone firm, eyes narrowed, and Namjoon maybe sort of chokes, because -- because Suga can’t just _say_ things like that --

 

Jackson’s eyes flicker over to Namjoon’s at the mention of his name, and when their gazes lock, there’s a wave of affection that washes over his face, smoothing over the ire, and Namjoon swallows, because -- he was really able to calm Jackson down just like that?

 

But then Jackson turns his attention back to Suga, and all the warmth ignites into red, hot fury, and he’s already moving his arm again, and _goddammit_ \--

 

“Jackson, _wait_ , I can explain!” Namjoon yelps, and he’s _finally_ able to sit up -- only to fall the right back down, because _wow_ , his shoulder just died again, and he cries out in pain as his shoulder makes contact with the bed.

 

Both Jackson and Suga freeze, heads whipping around to look at Namjoon (Namjoon sort of holds his breath, because _woah_ , they’re _hot_ ), and before Namjoon can even say _I’m okay_ , Jackson’s dropping his arm and pushing past Suga, leaning over the bed and moving in close to Namjoon’s face.

 

“Shit, babe, you okay?” Jackson frowns at Namjoon, and now _he’s_ holding onto his hand, his other hand coming up to run his knuckles across Namjoon’s cheek. Namjoon feels himself flush at the touch, the eye contact. “I’m sorry, sorry, are you okay? What happened?”

 

Namjoon swallows, seeing Suga moving to the other side of his bed, and _oh god_ , now _Suga’s_ holding his hand, too, tracing little circles on his wrist and Namjoon could _die_.

 

“U-um,” Namjoon stutters, and he’s distantly aware of how loud and fast the heart beat monitor is beeping (embarrassing, _embarrassing_ ). He inhales, shaky, trying to focus. “Finally, you idiot,” he says, because that’s literally the next thing that comes to mind, seeing Jackson all calmed down.

 

Jackson laughs, but it’s sort of _bashful_ , and he’s biting on his lower lip (is he _trying_ to kill Namjoon?), glancing down before looking back up at him. “I’m sorry, babe; forgive me?” and those -- those _fucking eyes_ \-- who does Jackson think he is?

 

Namjoon snorts, before clearing his throat loudly. “Forgiven,” he mumbles, leaving out the _If you keep using those eyes on me._

 

“Great!” Jackson cheers, sounding so happy, and Namjoon literally feels his skin warm just from seeing him smile, energetic as always. “So, what happened? How bad are you hurt? Are you in a lot of pain right now?” he asks, squeezing Namjoon’s wrist tight.

 

“I’m okay right now. Guess I could use some alcohol -- I’m kidding,” Namjoon says, stopping Jackson when he sees him nod (of course Jackson would be willing to just _give_ Namjoon alcohol while he’s in a _hospital_ ). “I’m just really tired, and my shoulder hurts. Got shot,” he says, glancing down at his shoulder, before looking back up to Jackson.

 

Jackson’s expression tightens, and he throws an irritated glance in Suga’s direction. “And who the hell shot you? Was it _him_ \-- ”

 

“I did not. Shoot him,” Suga snaps, interrupting Jackson, his hand leaving Namjoon’s to ball up at his side. Namjoon can sense the tension building all back up, and fuck, _not again_ \--

 

“Okay, okay, _please_ calm down, no more death glares,” Namjoon interjects, and he can feel both Suga and Jackson’s gazes travel back to him, and he swallows. God, they seem to hate each other’s guts _so fucking much_ , and Jackson doesn’t even...doesn’t even know about Suga. Suga’s irritation is understandable, but Jackson seems one hundred and ten percent fueled _just_ by the situation Namjoon’s in, ready to pounce with just the knowledge that Namjoon is hurt (a part of Namjoon feels dizzy at that realization, because -- because Jackson cares _that_ much about him?).

 

“So what happened, then? Bullets don’t just find themselves in pretty people’s shoulders,” Jackson laughs, and when Namjoon looks over at Suga, he sees he’s gone quiet, clenching his jaw. Suga’s hand moves back to Namjoon’s, and Namjoon can feel his thumb moving against his skin again, but, oh -- is that -- is that guilt in his eyes?

 

“Jackson, no, it’s not his fault; someone tried to kill him, but they missed, and I got hit, okay?” Namjoon says quickly, frantic, and with the little strength he has, he squeezes Jackson’s hand.

 

Jackson scrunches up his nose, like he’s deep in thought. “So it _is_ his fault,” he says, keeping his eyes on Namjoon.

 

Even though Jackson hasn’t made any movement, Namjoon is worried he’s going to try and punch Suga’s teeth out again, and he speaks up quickly. “No, god, _no_ , it’s not his fault. It’s better that I got hurt -- ”

 

“He’s right.” Suga’s voice is flat, and Namjoon’s eyes dart over to his, and something in him _hurts_ when he finds guilt drowning out the brown of Suga’s gorgeous, toffee brown irises. “It is my fault. I didn’t mean to get you hurt...but here you are,” he says, terse, and his voice is just _dripping_ with shame and sorrow, gaze settled on the floor.

 

Namjoon feels his heart wrench at that, seeing how distraught Suga is, and he wants to reach up and touch his hair, his face, tell him it’s not his fault; not his fault at all (because it _isn’t_ ; Suga couldn’t have controlled what had happened, and Namjoon can’t even _think_ of pinning the blame on him). But he can’t; can only give a small squeeze to Suga’s hand in hopes of reassuring him that it’s okay, he’s not to blame.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Namjoon manages to say, trying to get his hand to move, to get his fingers curled all the way around Suga’s. Suga just closes his eyes, and Namjoon feels fucking _awful_ . Suga _can’t_ blame himself; he shouldn’t feel bad about anything, but he _is_ , and it _hurts_ to see _him_ hurt.

 

It’s quiet again, for a couple of seconds, as if everyone’s taking their time to soak up and process all of the new information. Namjoon’s heart is still pounding away, and he feels anxious, nervous, because there are a million things he wants to say to both Jackson and Suga, but nothing comes out.

 

“Hang on a second,” Jackson is saying suddenly, and Namjoon looks over to him as he raises his head. Jackson holds his gaze for a moment, before looking over at Suga -- but instead of furor coloring the darks of his pupils, there’s a sort of anxiousness flickering across his eyes, and -- oh -- “What’s...what’s going on?” His voice is quiet, unnaturally serious, and Namjoon knows full well what he’s talking about ( _terrible_ , Namjoon is _terrible_ ).

 

“Wait, please, I have more to tell you,” Namjoon says, and he’s trying _desperately_ to tighten his hold on Jackson’s hand, finally able to after three seconds of maximal effort (only for a moment, though, because _fuck_ he has no energy).

 

Jackson turns his attention back to Namjoon, and his brows are creased in a slight frown, like he doesn’t know what to think. Incredibly, he doesn’t say anything, and to Namjoon, that’s...that’s not a good thing at all. Because Jackson is _always_ talking -- asking questions, answering said questions himself, pushing for more information, laughing things off -- Namjoon supposes he has the right for silence this time around, though, considering how _awful_ Namjoon is.

 

“Can you. Um. Stay, for a second?” Namjoon swallows, not daring to break away from Jackson’s eyes. _Tell him_ , he yells inwardly, _Stop being a fucking coward and tell him_.

 

Jackson nods, shifting in his seat, moving a little closer, and it’s then that Namjoon sees Suga beginning to move _away_ , and Namjoon glances up at him, blinking in confusion, because -- what --

 

“I’ll just go, okay? I’ll be outside,” Suga is saying, and Namjoon feels his fingers slip away and _no_ \--

 

“No, please, don’t leave,” Namjoon pleads, and this time, he’s able to squeeze his hand, desperate and . Suga stops, blinking down at Namjoon. “I -- just. Please. Stay. I -- I don’t want you to go,” he tries to reason, because he doesn’t want him to _leave_ , doesn’t want either Jackson or Suga to go (he knows it’s selfish, but he -- he _wants_ them, he _needs_ them -- even if he doesn’t deserve either of them in the slightest).

 

Suga is motionless for only a heartbeat, eyes shaded and unreadable, before he pulls up another chair and seats himself in it. Namjoon swallows, feeling both men’s eyes on him, and is -- is this how it feels to be the center of attention?

 

Once both Suga and Jackson seem to be ready to listen, Namjoon swallows and steels himself up; he’s gotta come clean.

 

“Jackson. You -- you remember when I asked if you liked me,” Namjoon starts slowly, watching Jackson as he nods wordlessly. “And you remember that I said I really like you back,” he almost chokes on the words, but this _needs_ to be said, he can’t lie -- not with both Jackson and Suga in the room, holding his hands, looking right at him. Both of them are so incredibly _important_ to Namjoon, and he just -- he can’t hurt them anymore by being a spineless, good for nothing _coward_.

 

Jackson nods, and Namjoon pushes on. “I...I feel the same way. About someone else, too,” and he pauses (is he shaking? It definitely _feels_ like he is). He turns his head toward Suga, looking at him directly in the eye, and Suga doesn’t look away. “And that person is Suga,” he breathes, and in Suga’s eyes, he sees a glimmer of what looks like -- affection?

 

And there, Namjoon’s said it. It’s out, and now both Suga and Jackson can see how truly _horrible_ Namjoon is. It’s all said -- but it’s definitely not done.

 

Namjoon looks back at Jackson, and he finds a clear look of confusion and a touch of anguish to his eyes, and it’s ripping apart Namjoon from the inside out, because now _Jackson’s_ hurting and it’s all because of _Namjoon_.

 

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon says, sounding pathetic to his own ears (the words are practically _meaningless_ ; they don’t do anything to help or heal Jackson or Suga). “I’m so sorry. This is what I meant earlier when I said I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says quietly, and he wants to laugh at himself, because what a _terrible_ person he is, saying he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, and yet, here Jackson is -- _hurt_.

 

Jackson doesn’t say anything -- he just holds eye contact with Namjoon, breathing slowly. And it’s so _weird_ , to not have Jackson blabbering or laughing, and instead, have him sit completely still, watching Namjoon without a single word leaving his lips. After a second, Namjoon feels the fear in his gut begin to intensify, spreading beneath his skin, because Jackson is _never_ this quiet; _ever_ , and it’s making Namjoon sick, because it’s all thanks to _Namjoon_ that this is happening.

 

“I see,” is all Jackson finally says, and Namjoon feels something inside of him twist and turn, the urge to hold Jackson’s face, tell him he’s _sorry_ , that Jackson doesn’t ever have to forgive him beginning to grow.

 

Jackson starts tapping his fingers against Namjoon’s wrist, and he’s looking down at Namjoon’s lap. “Can I have a second to process this? I’m still kind of trying to get over the fact you were shot,” he says, voice even, soft.

 

Namjoon nods quickly. Jackson certainly has the right to feel angry, despaired, but still, it’s -- it’s tearing Namjoon up to see him so _upset_ , so _hurt_.

 

Jackson looks up, but this time it’s at Suga. “Who shot him?” he asks quietly, eyes wary.

 

Suga shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’m going to set up a watch tomorrow,” he says, and his gaze hardens. “I’ll find the fucker.”

 

“He’ll be wishing he’d never been born,” Jackson is saying, with just a hint of humor in his voice that puts Namjoon to a little ease, and he starts to sinks back into his bed, because -- oh, he’s starting...to feel...sleepy…

 

Namjoon lets his eyes close, and he can just barely make out the words thrown back and forth between Jackson and Suga (literally; every syllable comes out bitten, derisive).

 

“It’s getting kinda late. Don’t you wanna go home?” Jackson is saying, and it sounds more like a suggestion than a question (almost like a threat or maybe a challenge, oh god).

 

“My friends already knows I’m not coming home. I’m staying here,” Suga is saying back, sounding resolute and firm.

 

Jackson tuts, laughing a little. “Guess you’re gonna have to sleep in that uncomfortable hospital chair,” he says.

 

“Don’t mind if it’s for Namjoon,” Suga shoots back, and Namjoon’s heart starts beating fast again, the blood in his cheeks warm. Why do they _care_ so much for _Namjoon_ ? They should hate him, they shouldn’t want to be _near_ him; Namjoon doesn’t _deserve_ them.

 

“My thoughts exactly,” Jackson murmurs then, and it’s the last thing Namjoon hears before he lets himself fall into sleep.

 

\--

 

Namjoon doesn’t sleep very well, but that’s a given, because he’s in a pretty uncomfortable hospital bed, and also his shoulder is sore from being fucking shot.

 

When he finally blinks his eyes open, the first thing he notices is Jackson, leaned against the wall with his arms folded (fuck, his cheekbones are _godly_ ), and Suga, sitting back in his chair, hands stuffed into his pockets, and they’re, um. Glaring at each other. Very angrily.

 

“...’M shoulder hurts,” Namjoon mumbles quietly, voice hoarse, and in an instant, both Suga and Jackson turn their attention to him (it kind of makes Namjoon’s heart swell, because -- well, _fuck_ ).

 

“Oh, ah -- Suga, you can call a nurse,” Jackson blinks, sparing Suga a short glance, before looking back to Namjoon  “They’re everywhere in the hallways, just pick one that’s smiling.” He cocks his head in the direction of the door.

 

Namjoon looks over to Suga, and he sees his eyes darken with irritation as he glowers in Jackson’s direction, but he’s standing from his chair (god, Namjoon thought he was going to .

 

“I’ll be right back,” Suga is saying to Namjoon, voice soft, and he touches Namjoon’s hand reassuringly. Namjoon flushes, tucking his chin close, and it isn’t until he nods that Suga turns and leaves, fingers slipping away from Namjoon.

 

It’s silent then, once Suga closes the door behind him with a soft click. Namjoon glances over at his bedside clock, and -- oh, rest in fucking pieces, it’s two in the morning, holy _fuck_ (Namjoon’s sleeping schedule is going to be _ruined_ ).

 

“Hey, so -- ” Jackson is speaking up, and Namjoon looks over to him, watching as he pushes off of the wall. He strides over to Namjoon’s bedside, dropping himself into the empty hospital rolly chair, and his expression is serious. “-- So Joonie, I had some time to think about what you said to me,” he says, and Namjoon’s heart suddenly tightens, the memory of two hours’ past hitting him full force (but he deserves this -- whatever Jackson is going to say, how he feels -- Namjoon deserves it).

 

Namjoon nods, blinking down at his lap. Jackson must be so hurt, confused and maybe even _angry_ , and it’s all Namjoon’s fault. He just -- he wishes he could do _something_ to make everyone feel better.

 

“I -- oh, it’s okay, it’s okay, don’t look so freaked out.” Jackson blinks, the solemnity in his expression melting into a smile once he looks back up at Namjoon, and Namjoon can’t deny how _warm_ it makes him feel. “I’m not mad at you, I swear -- I can’t be mad with your pretty face,” he laughs, and Namjoon feels warm.

 

“I’m not nearly as pretty as you,” the words fall out of Namjoon’s mouth almost too easily, and he feels himself flushing, because _goddamnit_ , what the _fuck_ (really, of all times that Namjoon fucks up with words). “But that’s -- that’s not t-the point,” he stutters, flushed, shaking his head quickly. He swallows thickly, looking up at Jackson. “I-I’m -- I feel terrible, and _lost_ , and I -- what do I...what am I supposed to do? Both of you guys like me, and want to date me, and I like both of you back and I fucking hate this,” he says, and his breath is a little shaky, but he thinks the words come out clear enough.

 

Jackson smiles soft, _tender_ at Namjoon, and he kind of looks really perfect, a gentle flicker of sunlight dancing in the backs of his eyes.

 

“Hey, I won’t pressure you into anything, okay? I’ll give you some time to think it out and get yourself back into one piece,” Jackson says, pulling at his silver stud piercing, and Namjoon realizes Jackson means that he...he still wants to be with Namjoon. Despite all of his fuckery. _Fuck_.

 

“U-uh, o -- okay. Th -- thanks,” Namjoon sniffs, and no, he’s not crying, nope, but he scratches at his eyebrow anyways to hide his eyes. But really, _why_ is Jackson so sweet? Why is Suga so sweet? Why are _they both_ so sweet? Namjoon doesn’t deserve any of their kindness, their forgiveness, they’re willingness to wait for _Namjoon_.

 

“But I won’t give up! I’m not gonna abandon my babe!” Jackson suddenly beams, a burst of energy making its usual appearance. He’s alight with cheer, eyes singing as he looks at Namjoon, like his worth is immeasurable -- it’s the Jackson that Namjoon has come to know and adore; to admire and _cherish_.

 

Namjoon rolls his eyes, and he laughs, but only for a fifth of a second, before his shoulder starts screaming again (he must have moved it just enough for it to hurt, _fuck_ ), and with a wince, he settles back down. He looks up to see Jackson smiling at him again, but he has this affectionate, or -- or _loving_ , look in his eyes, like he’s looking at the most beautiful thing in the universe, and Namjoon feels his face growing warm again.

 

“You said your shoulder was hurting?” the door opens with a click, and there’s a nurse walking in. Right behind her, Suga’s stepping into the room, and there’s guilt clawing it’s way back up Namjoon’s throat tightens, guilt scratching and clawing at his skin and stomach (Suga should _hate_ him; Suga shouldn’t waste his time with Namjoon), but at the same time, he feels a sort of...gratitude. Because at least they don’t...completely despise him (even if they have every right to).

 

“Uh, yeah,” Namjoon blinks, swallowing as Suga moves to the side of his bed, opposite of Jackson. The nurse bounds over, handling a tray, before picking up a syringe and filling it with some clear substance (painkiller, duh), and Namjoon closes his eyes at the sight of the silver needle (he’s never really been a fan of sharp stuff).

 

Namjoon keeps his eyes closed for a while, breathing in and out, and _fuck_ , that stuff is _quick_ to kick in, and before he can even process it, he’s starting to fall asleep again. He lets his eyes stay shut, each inhale and exhale deep, focused. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, if the nurse still has the needle stuck in his arm, but he feels words bubbling up and tumbling out as he shifts tiredly in his bed.

 

“‘M sorry,” Namjoon hears his own voice, drowsy and soft. “‘M sorry. I don’t...don’t deserve you guys...I’m a horrible...person…”

 

And then he dreams, of warmth washing over his skin and the sharp aroma of mint.

 

\--

 

It's at three when Jackson's finally able to close his eyes for longer than two seconds.

 

He doesn't know how long he's been asleep, but when he feels himself slipping down the wall he jumps awake (fuck, would have been awful if he’d fallen onto the floor).

 

“Fuck,” Jackson groans, rubbing at his temples. He blinks over at the clock, and it's...four in the morning. _Ugh_ , only _one_ hour of shut eye; like Jackson’s sleep schedule wasn’t already fucked up enough (at least he doesn’t have Mark’s job, though; _that’s_ a real sleep schedule killer).

 

Jackson gives a quick sweep of the room -- there's Namjoon, passed out and breathing slow, soft. He’d been snoring (like, _loud_ snoring) when he’d first fallen asleep; that was also pretty cute (even if it had sounded a lot like a tank engine). He looks positively angelic, lashes quivering every now and then, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

 

And then there's Suga.

 

With his mint green hair, his face of stone, and his seven thousand dollar Entropy brand jacket (Jackson only recognizes the brand because it's just -- _so_ \-- ugh). What does Namjoon see in him? He's such a stiff; Jackson’s hardly witnessed so much as a _trace_ of emotion pop up in the guy. If he had any emotion, Jackson would assume it to be utter bitterness; he’s always so -- _cold_. Literally, too; Jackson doesn’t think he’s ever seen him without a jacket (does he even have arms under all that fabric?).

 

Suga looks up at Jackson suddenly, like he can hear his thoughts. His eyes are lidded in a cold glower, and Jackson trains a glare right back on him. Fine; if Suga wants to be perpetually irritated, Jackson will be, too.

 

There's a knock at the door, but neither of them break eye contact until someone's stepping into the room.

 

“Suga? Okay, thank god, thought I had the wrong room,” the guy is saying, and he looks from Suga to Namjoon. There's a look of relief painting new guy’s eyes, warm and soft as he speaks (he looks familiar; must be Suga’s second in command). “Is he doing okay?” he says, obviously referring to the wounded angel in the hospital bed.

 

Suga nods, looking off in Namjoon’s direction, too. Except, there's this sort of loving, gentle vibe to his entire demeanor, like something’s rounding out. It’s a phenomenon that Jackson could have never imagined with him, even in his most vivid dreams (and he has the _wildest_ dreams, _seriously_ ). Watching Suga watch _Namjoon_ like that starts something hot in his chest, branching out in little tendrils of fire, making his ears burn and his jaw clench, and he’s -- he's angry?

 

“Suga, I know that you want to stay here with Namjoon, like, you probably have already planned on staying here for the whole _week_ , and I understand that -- but it's four in the morning. Have you slept at all?” the guy near the door is saying, slowly, brows furrowed in what can only be concern (evidently, this guy must really care about Suga).

 

“I'm fine,” Suga mutters, keeping his eyes on Namjoon, and, come to think of it...Jackson doesn't remember him getting any sleep, just sitting in his hospital chair and blinking every few seconds (he’s not _actually_ made of ice, is he?).

 

“Suga,” the guy says, arms folded (he's...kind of starting to remind Jackson of Jinyoung -- with the whole _mom_...thing). “You need rest. Namjoon will be perfectly fine, he's not going anywhere. And the meeting’s at nine thirty,” he sighs, but his tone is firm, far from flippant (and actually, Jackson revokes his previous statement; this guy is pretty much Jinyoung, minus the black rim glasses).

 

Jackson observes Suga's face, waiting for any scowls or snorts of contempt, but the only change he picks up on is the tightening of his jaw.

 

“If you’re that concerned, and I _know_ you are, I can stay,” the guy says, and -- er, doesn’t he see Jackson? Standing? Right here? Like, Jackson doesn’t mind the company, as long as that company’s nice and doesn’t also happen to like Namjoon and -- okay, if Jackson’s being totally honest, he’d prefer anyone’s company over Suga’s; it’s like he’s _purposely_ making the room all tense, the atmosphere tight and suffocating (not to be dramatic, but it does sort of feel like Jackson can’t breathe around the guy).

 

Suga’s suddenly rising from his chair, on his feet, walking over to Namjoon, and he touches his hand to Namjoon’s, a slow and careful caress to his knuckles and wrist. Jackson feels the burning again, and the longer Suga keeps his hand over Namjoon’s, the more the temperature ramps up, flaring and hissing, because it’s not like Jackson’s _possessive_ , or anything, but that’s -- that’s _Namjoon_ that Suga’s touching, that’s _Namjoon_ that he’s looking at, wordless and still. Jackson chances a look into Suga’s eyes, just as he’s lifting his head, and Jackson sees something that surprises him --

\-- emotion?

 

And there’s hurt there, too -- and confusion, and... _insecurity_ , Jackson thinks. Which is weird for two reasons: a) Suga and lots of emotions? and b) it’s almost like Jackson’s...seeing what he’s feeling himself. Right now. At this very second. Like -- Like he’s looking into a mirror --

 

\-- haha, no, that...that can’t be. Jackson can’t be anything like this guy just because of Namjoon. He’d _never_ look that ticked _that_ often; nope. Suga’s face is like, made of fucking stone, or ice, or something _cold_ and _unmalleable_ (how the hell does he not have wrinkles? Jackson will never know).

 

Suga breaks eye contact, then, turning and walking toward his companion still standing at the door.

 

“Stay here until I come back to check on him; I’ll have Tae drop by and you can rest,” Suga says, stopping at his friend’s side. “And text Hoseok. Tell him what happened, but make sure you let him know Namjoon’s okay. He’s going to want to come see him,” he adds, airy and light (oh, yeah, Hoseok; cupcake man and Namjoon’s roommate; he’ll probably want to hear about Namjoon).

 

“Got it. Now go get some rest. And eat something; I left scones in the kitchen. Raspberry,” ‘s friend says, before raising a finger in his direction. “You better eat them; I was stress-cooking for you all last night,” the guy smiles, patting Suga on the back ( _definitely_ feeling lots of Jinyoung vibes right now).

 

Suga sniffs, nodding, and he looks over his shoulder back in Namjoon’s direction. “The second something happens, call me,” Suga says, and the steel in his voice is matched only by the glint of his eyes.

 

Suga’s friend rolls his eyes, laughing. “For sure. Now _go_ , Suga, you look ready to pass out.”

 

Suga sighs (Jackson thinks he rolls his eyes, too), and then he’s out of the room, closing the door behind him. And _wow_ , look at that -- almost instantly, the atmosphere in the room starts loosening up. So Jackson _wasn’t_ wrong about the whole tension thing.

 

“So. I take it you’re...posted for guarding Namjoon?” the guy is suddenly asking, speaking right at Jackson (shit, did he know Jackson was in here the whole time?).

 

“Yep, I’m supposed to be here for -- ” Jackson stops, because -- wait. It’s. Four. In the morning. _Fuck_ . “Oh, fuck, my shift -- it ended two hours ago -- _shit_ ,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut tight (damn; if he missed any errands, he’s going to be so _dead_ ).

 

The guy laughs, and already, Jackson knows he’d _definitely_ prefer this guy’s company to Suga’s (although, that’s really a given at this point; why would anyone want to hang out with someone so -- _so_ \--). “You seem very devoted,” the guy muses, and Jackson laughs, because if only he knew.

 

“Haha, I guess you could say that.” Jackson lets out a shaky laugh (very devoted? More like very, very, _very_ devoted).

 

The guy casts a look over at the clock, and then back to Jackson. “Were you here with Suga the whole time?” he asks, and Jackson is just beginning to nod, tell him he’s been hanging around since midnight, when the guy immediately starts up again. “Has he had anything to drink or snack on? Did he really not get any sleep? I swear, that guy forgets to take care of himself sometimes. Especially when he’s doing something involving Namjoon, haha.”

 

Jackson laughs too, but inwardly is sort of throwing up in his mouth, because really, he’s not _super_ interested in hearing about anything Suga-related (read: _competition_ -related), but this guy seems...nice, so he’ll at least be responsive.

 

“Devotion, huh,” Jackson nods. _I take care of myself so I can take care of my babe_ , he kind of wants to say, but he’s gonna guess that Friendly-Smiles-And-Mom-Vibes isn’t going to be too on board with a sort-of barb at Suga (and Jackson isn’t _so_ low to throw shade like that behind someone’s back; if he’s going to insult someone, he’ll do it to their face).

 

“Seokjin, by the way, or Jin. I might have met you in passing before, but, uh, I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve caught your name,” Jin says, reaching a hand out, smiling warm and open. Jackson recognizes his name immediately -- Kim Seokjin, the famed second-in-command of Bulletproof, known for his level-headed attitude and loyalty to Suga -- now Jackson can put a face to that famed name.

 

“Oh, cool, I’m Jackson,” Jackson smiles back, taking his hand and giving it a quick shake. Jin’s grip is firm, and his eyes are friendly, and Jackson thinks it speaks volumes about his kindness, his sociability and enthusiasm (really; Suga should take lessons from this guy on How To Be a Decent Human Being).

 

Jin blinks at Jackson, squinting, and for a second, Jackson thinks he’s going to point at him accusingly and say, _Wait,_ you _?_ , except, that’s not what happens.

 

“Hm, you look tired. Have you been awake the whole time like Suga, no food, no water? And standing around, too? That can’t be very comfortable, you should sit,” Jin hums, and he’s already walking over to the chair Suga had been using, pulling it out and gesturing for him to sit down.

 

Jackson laughs. “You know, you remind me of someone I know. But like, a lot nicer and without glasses,” he sighs, following Jin, and _wow_ chairs are nice, it feels like he hasn’t sat in six months (shit, his feet are _killing him_ , what the _fuck_ ).

 

And Jin actually _talks_ to Jackson after that. Like, showing his full interest, nodding or sighing, showing outward emotion and Jackson can _feel_ himself starting to wake up. It’s kind of difficult to believe this guy’s buddies with Suga; someone so bubbly being so close to someone so...not.

 

The whole time they talk, Namjoon’s one hundred percent knocked out, and every time he stirs, Jackson finds himself glancing over at him. Sometimes, he talks in his sleep, mumbling stuff about music, and...hating seafood? It’s super cute, like, one of the most adorable things Jackson’s ever seen, and Jackson gets so distracted that he has to ask Jin to repeat himself every now and then.

 

After a while, Jackson’s sinking back into the chair, watching Namjoon, and he looks over to his bandaged shoulder. He wonders if Namjoon’s in a lot of pain, if he can feel it even in his sleep (god, it would be _terrible_ if it hurt bad enough to the point where he couldn’t be able to even _sleep_ ). Jackson’s broken some ribs and his arm (his left leg, too) a couple of times in the past; he kind of understands what it feels like to be stuck in a hospital bed. Maybe he should stay until Namjoon’s feeling better, keep an eye on him and --

 

There’s a knock at the door.

 

“Jacks? Hey, you know your shift ended, like, two hours ago, right?” comes a very familiar, light-hearted laugh, muffled through the door.

 

Jackson suppresses a groan, ruffling up his bangs with his fingertips; _fuck_. “I’ll be right out, just a sec,” he calls back, standing. He glances over to Namjoon, who’s still dreaming blissfully, and -- and fuck it, he’s going to touch his hand affectionately, too (maybe Jin won’t...notice?).

 

Jackson takes Namjoon’s wrist in his hand, gingerly curling his fingers around his skin, and he has to take a moment to take him in, because -- oh, _god_ , Namjoon just has to be the most perfect, prettiest thing on the planet, in the _universe_. Even if he’s starting to ramble about how awful octopus tastes.

 

“See ya, babe,” Jackson says under his breath, and with one final squeeze to Namjoon’s fingers, Jackson turns on heel and heads for the door.

 

“Uh, I actually...might not be back, so, guess I’ll see you?” Jackson pauses, hand on the door handle, looking over at Jin.

 

Jin nods, giving a small wave. “Yep. Make sure you drink lots of water. And sleep, too,” he says, and Jackson laughs (Jackson is _definitely_ going to tell Jinyoung about him), before turning the handle and stepping out. He closes the door quietly, inhaling and exhaling, and then he turns around.

 

“Care to tell me why you -- oh, _Jesus_ , Jackson, you look like you’re about to fall over,” he hears his leader saying, and when Jackson looks up, he has his arms folded. He doesn’t look mad, just looks concerned.

 

“I’m perfectly fine; I can still see straight,” Jackson shakes his head, trying to push his shoulders back a little. He’s good, he’s _perfect_ ; nothing a little (a _lot_ ) of sleep can’t fix.

 

His leader laughs loudly. “You look like you can barely even _walk_ straight,” he says, and then says in an even tone, adds, “Wonder why?” And -- shit, here it comes.

 

“I -- ugh, I’m sorry, I just...I fell asleep,” Jackson swallows, staring at the white-tile flooring. And it’s only _sort of_ a lie, but it’s the best thing Jackson has right now.

 

His leader sighs, glancing over at the room’s door. “I’m gonna assume your phone was on silent, too?”

 

Jackson blinks, reaching for his phone hurriedly, practically yanking it out of his pocket, and -- yep, those are twenty text messages. And five missed calls. Um. Fuck.

 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Jackson shoves his phone back into his pocket, after he turns his ringer back on (of all the times Jackson had it on silent, what the _fuck_ ). “I’m sorry, it was an honest mistake; I didn’t have anything to do so I slept,” he says, keeping his gaze level with his leader’s.

 

His leader purses his lips, and Jackson can tell he’s weighing his options, and all Jackson can think is please, _please_ , not again, _not now_ \--

 

“I’m not angry, Jackson, but you need to go home. You look...dead,” his leader says breathily, the corner of his mouth quirked up to form a small smile, and Jackson goes very still at that.

 

“No, no, I’m okay, I don’t need sleep,” Jackson says quickly, and he can hear his tone rising just the barest bit, but there’s not a whole lot he can do about that. He can’t leave Namjoon, not yet; it’s too early, too soon.

 

“And you’re a human being, you need the rest,” his leader says calmly, slowly.

 

“Fuck that; I need to be here,” Jackson says, words spilling so fast, and his voice sounds hoarse. He realizes his mistake as soon as the sentence is hanging in the air, but it’s too late, _fuck_ \--

 

“Jackson,” his leader says warningly, as if he thinks Jackson’s about to go off the deep end. He’s giving Jackson an inquisitive look, and Jackson bites the inside of his cheek. _He doesn’t know, but I --_

 

“Please, please, you don’t understand,” Jackson’s voice is turning strained, but he can’t help himself. He feels emotionally spent, and everything’s sort of in a haze, and it’s hard to think with even fifty percent clarity.

 

His leader blinks, and _shit_ ; there’s no way he didn’t catch the implication of that statement --

 

“Jackson. Go home and rest, now,” his leader says sternly, and fuck, Jackson’s blown it.

 

“No, no, please, I can explain, I just -- it’s -- ” Jackson pleads, but there are too many words all tangled up in his head and he can’t pick what he wants to say.

 

His leader’s expression tightens, and he glances toward the ground, before looking back up at Jackson. “You know I love you, but the answer is no,” he says, brows knitted in a slight frown.

 

“Youngjae, please, don’t do this, please -- ” Jackson feels his knees going weak, and it’s probably not just from the exhaustion, but _goddamnit_ , he _needs to be here_ ; he needs to be with _Namjoon_.

 

“Mark’s waiting outside. When you leave, tell him to come in; he’s going to stand post for you,” Youngjae’s says tersely, and Jackson knows he’s lost (honestly, though, he really didn’t have a chance to start with). There’s absolutely no room for arguing in Youngjae’s tone or his eyes.

 

Jackson hangs his head, and he finally realizes just how _tired_ he is. Physically, but also _emotionally_ \-- like, he knew he’d been drained, but it’s all starting to really, _really_ catch up with him, and he feels ready to crash. He feels Youngjae’s hand on his shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze, and he raises his head limply.

 

Youngjae sighs again, and he seems conflicted, lips pulled into a tight line. “We can talk later. But for now, I need you fed and rested; I need you to be _alive_. I care about you, you know,” he sighs, before squeezing Jackson’s shoulder again. “Now seriously, go. Before you fall over from fatigue or hunger,” he says, patting the back of Jackson’s shoulder. When all Jackson gives is a faint nod, Youngjae laughs. “Don’t be upset. Mark’s got this covered, alright?”

 

Jackson inhales deep. “Yeah. I got it,” he manages to say, and with that, Youngjae smooths his hand over the shoulder of his sleeve, before finally releasing him.

 

“We’ll, talk, okay? I won’t leave you hanging,” Youngjae says, when Jackson takes a step forward, and, oh. Fuck. Jackson was kind of hoping he’d be able to worm his way out of that one.

 

“Gotcha,” Jackson smiles, flashing Youngjae a reassuring thumbs up, before he heads off in the direction of the hospital entrance. His steps are light, but they feel heavy, weighed down and slow. A part of him feels _wrong_ for leaving Namjoon behind, without giving a proper goodbye -- but turning back and trying to get even just one look at him would more than likely get him kicked out of the hospital.

 

When Jackson steps through the automatic glass doors, out into the soft light of the morning sun,  he easily spots Mark, who’s leaned against his bike. He’s wearing a black tee, hair styled out of his face, and he’s messing around on his phone.

 

“Whatcha playin’?” Jackson asks, peeking over at his phone after making his way over.

 

Mark taps at his screen (looks like some kind of color tile game?), staying focused on his game. “Color theory game. It’s fun,” he mumbles, and Jackson realizes he’s sucking on a lollipop.

 

“Looks difficult,” Jackson frowns, trying to figure out how Mark knows what the fuck to do with all those randomly colored squares (maybe it’s a new game?).

 

“It’s not,” Mark shrugs. “You should try it sometime,” he says, shaking his bangs out of his face, and then shuts his phone off after a little _Success!_ message pops up on his screen. He looks up at Jackson, sliding his phone into his pocket. “You ready to go?” he says, head cocked to the side.

 

Jackson nods, moving his hands to his own pockets (it’s actually kind of cold, fuck). “Ready to fucking pass out, yeah,” he says, blinking hard.

 

Mark takes his lollipop in his hand -- oh, it’s actually a dum dum, and it’s red, so...cherry flavored, maybe? -- and smiles at Jackson. “Here, have something sweet,” he says, and he’s holding out the dum-dum.

 

“Ew, gross. Thanks,” Jackson sticks his tongue out, but he takes the dum-dum anyways, popping it in his mouth (yep, definitely cherry flavored).

 

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Mark says, patting his palm against Jackson’s chest, and it slides away as he walks past him.

 

And Jackson’s about to turn to walk toward his own bike, book it the fuck home (his legs are about to give out, no joke), when he pauses -- does Mark know that it’s Namjoon that’s been shot?

 

“Hey, Mark,” Jackson calls out quickly, turning to face the blonde before he steps into the hospital. Mark glances up at him over his shoulder, brow raised, and he hums questioningly.

 

“You know who’s in there, right?” Jackson continues. It seemed like even Youngjae didn't know it was Namjoon in the room, which is kind of weird, because -- oh. Oh. _Suga_ must have been the one that brought him in; god fucking damnit.

 

“Nope,” Mark shakes his head, blinking.

 

“It’s Joonie. Can you take care of him for me?” Jackson says, remembering Namjoon’s bandaged shoulder, his peaceful, sleeping face. It was utterly _gorgeous_ , in all honesty -- but then again, Namjoon’s just gorgeous all the time. “Please,” he adds, the memory of Namjoon’s laugh, so chipper and so sweet, ringing in his ears.

 

Mark grins wide, nodding. “Sure, Jacks. I’ll make sure he’s okay,” he says, almost in a sing-song tone.

 

Jackson feels his shoulders go lax with relief. “Thanks. It means a lot to me,” he murmurs. He can’t bear the thought of Namjoon suffering any further -- Namjoon doesn’t deserve any sort of pain at all.

 

“Mm hm,” Mark says, before disappearing inside the hospital.

 

Jackson sighs, now alone, and he wastes no time getting himself on his bike. He wastes even less time getting back home, because _fuck_ he’s tired, and his feet are sore as hell from so much standing (he’s definitely gonna feel this shit tomorrow).

 

Once he’s made it to his flat, he barges into his room, slamming the door wide open (but nobody’s home, so he couldn’t give a single fuck), and immediately, his face finds the nearest pillow to fall into. He finds sleep instantly (thank _god_ ), but he only manages to get in two hours of sleep before his fucking phone starts screaming at him.

 

“Fuck!” Jackson yells into his pillow, and he fumbles around for his phone. He rolls onto his back, swiping his phone open, and, oh -- it’s a call from Jinyoung. Well, guess Jackson can’t really be upset now; Jinyoung’s always gonna be important to him.

 

“Hello? Jinyoung? What’dya need?” Jackson says sleepily, stretching his legs out over the edge of his couch (whoops, he thought he’d made it to his bed).

 

 _“Jackson,”_ Jinyoung says, sounding worried, anxious, tone watery and uneven, and immediately,  Jackson freezes. Is something wrong? _“I, ah, I have something to talk about that you should know.”_

 

Jackson swallows, trying to think of what Jinyoung could possibly be referring to, and -- oh, it’s probably Namjoon; Jinyoung probably thinks Jackson doesn’t know he was shot.

 

“What’s up, Jinyoung? Got something on your mind?” Jackson says, deciding to play the calm and cool card. Jinyoung sounds stressed; maybe if Jackson’s able to calm him down he’ll feel a whole lot better.

 

 _“Yeah. Yeah, I --_ ” the line goes silent for a second, and for a second, Jackson thinks he’s lost connection, when he realizes -- is...is Jinyoung sniffling? _“Namjoon was shot last night, at the end of his shift,”_ he says, a little breathy.

 

Jackson blinks. Did Jinyoung see it happen? Is he hurt himself? He swallows; no, no, Jinyoung would probably be in the hospital, too, if something had happened to him.

 

“I know,” Jackson says calmly, because he thinks he can hear a tremor in Jinyoung’s voice.

 

 _“And it was my fault -- w-wait, what?”_ Jinyoung is saying, but he backtracks.

 

“I mean, I know, ‘cause I was on shift at the hospital last night. I guarded his room, watched him sleep and -- he’s alright, Jinyoung, it’s not your fault,” Jackson says, and he can pretty clearly picture Jinyoung looking very upset right now, face contorting with anxiety. Hopefully, now that he knows Namjoon’s okay, he’ll start to relax. And then he adds (just to put Jinyoung at a little more ease), “I know _exactly_ whose fault it is.”

 

 _“Huh? You know who the shooter is?”_ Jinyoung is asking, and. Uh.

 

“Well -- um, no, I -- it’s weird, but we’ll find out soon probably. I meant I know the _reason_ he got shot, sorry,” Jackson laughs nervously, and he feels himself scowl at the memory of mint hair and a stoic expression.

 

There’s another pause, and Jackson’s about to ask if Jinyoung’s still there when he speaks up again.

 

 _“Suga,”_ Jinyoung says in a hushed voice, and yep, good to know that Jinyoung knows right from wrong -- wait a second.

 

“Yeah -- hold on, how did you know that?” Jackson frowns, confused. Is Jinyoung somehow acquainted with this guy? And he didn’t tell Jackson (the possibility is almost offensive, but then again, what _would_ there be to talk about with Suga).

 

 _“Well, first of all, I was there, and second of all I -- uh. I kind of...encouraged Namjoon to...to talk to Suga,”_ Jinyoung clears his throat, still sounding a little garbled, and --

 

What?

 

“I’m sorry, what?” Jackson says quietly, gripping his phone tight. There’s that fiery feeling in his chest again, and in his lungs, siphoning out into his bloodstream, all hot and _intense_ , but more than that, there’s a sort of...blankness. He feels...lost?

 

 _“W-wait -- Namjoon talked to me last night,”_ Jinyoung’s voice is slowly descending back into its former shaky, breathy tone.

 

“About how he likes me and Suga?” Jackson guesses, staring up at the ceiling.

 

 _“Y-yeah. I -- I didn’t think he was going to tell you, at least, not yet. I guess...I guess getting shot works miracles,”_ Jinyoung sniffs, and after a beat, says, _“I just wanted him to be honest with you guys.”_ And Jackson’s heart twists -- he can’t be mad at Jinyoung.

 

Neither of them say anything for a few seconds, and this time, Jackson knows Jinyoung’s still on the other end. He can hear his breathing, his sniveling, almost too clearly through the static of the phone.

 

“Have you been crying?” Jackson blinks, as the sounds of distress grow more and more noticeable.

 

 _“U-uh, kind of,”_ Jinyoung says, and hah, if that’s not a white lie.

 

“Jinyoung, no, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s not your fault, I’m sorry,” Jackson quickly tries to soothe him, biting at his piercing. Fuck, has Jinyoung been beating himself up over this for the whole night, blaming _himself_?

 

 _“No, no, I’m -- I’m being stupid,”_ Jinyoung breathes in sharp, and Jackson can picture him wiping at his eyes. _“If anything, you’re the one that should be upset, with what Namjoon told you. I’m not the one who should be complaining.”_ And after Jackson hears another deep inhale, Jinyoung continues. _“Do you...do you want to talk about it?”_

 

Jackson closes his eyes, and he breathes in deep. “What am I supposed to do?” he asks in a small voice. He wants Namjoon to be happy, but at the same time, _he_ wants to be happy, too -- but isn’t that just _selfish_ and _wrong_ ? He’s never felt this way about anything, and he feels just confused and -- and _lost_ , his sense of direction frayed, like a broken compass.

 

Jackson tells Jinyoung what Namjoon had said; when Namjoon had told him he hadn’t wanted to hurt either Jackson or Suga, told him how he was scared. To this, Jinyoung quietly tells him that Namjoon had come close to just cutting himself off from the both of them to safeguard their feelings, and Jackson’s mind goes blank for a moment, _horrified_ , because _why would Namjoon do that_ , how can he be so quick to be self-sacrificial (plus, it would definitely _not_ have spared Jackson’s feelings, because a) babe would be suffering and b) no babe)?

 

Jackson goes on to tell Jinyoung that he had promised Namjoon he would wait for him to come to his own solution. He tells Jinyoung that wasn’t a lie, and it isn’t now, but he admits that he had withheld telling Namjoon how hurt he had felt. He feels...small, now, like he’s lacking something. What could Suga have that Jackson doesn’t? It feels _ridiculous_ to even think over it, but it isn’t a real confidence booster to know your crush likes someone else. And Jackson knows Namjoon isn’t being... _malicious_ , or doing it on purpose, or whatever, but Jackson can’t help feeling that way.

 

Of course, Jinyoung jumps without an ounce of hesitation to counter all of Jackson’s doubts, and he goes on a full-blown tangent about how incredibly empathetic and emotional (in a good way, Jinyoung claims) Jackson is, how his skills with basketball and fencing and martial arts are unparalleled, his love for music endearing in every way.

 

 _“It’s also important to remember you have a fellow...um. Sufferer. In this whole situation. And I’m not talking about Namjoon,”_ Jinyoung sighs afterward, and Jackson cringes. As much as he hates ( _hates_ ) to admit it, Jinyoung’s...right -- no doubt Suga is feeling miffed over all of this, too (he remembers that weird look Suga gave him in the hospital; the one and only time he didn’t really glare at Jackson). Although, Jackson is loathe to admit that the guy is feeling anything more than irked, apathetic, or pissed off. Jackson doesn’t care if he’s a gang leader, or Namjoon’s other crush; he’s not a fan of stone-faced Suga.

 

“Thanks for letting me rant to you. This is just...sort of really fucked up,” Jackson exhales, and he realizes they’ve been talking for an hour straight (but it’s okay to lose sleep over talking with Jinyoung; Jinyoung’s important).

 

 _“No problem,”_ Jinyoung says, sighing deep, and Jackson thinks he can picture a warm smile on his face. _“And yeah, it’s a fucking mess.”_

 

“Oh, and, uh, one more thing -- ” Jackson flips onto his stomach, swallowing. “I, er, may have made it very obvious to Youngjae that I like Namjoon. And I may have been a sort of insistent and maybe kind of defiant.”

 

 _“Jackson -- really?”_ Jinyoung says, sounding tired. Jackson can sense the encroaching mom vibes through his phone.

 

“Ugh; I overstayed my shift by two hours,” Jackson groans, hiding his eyes with his forearms. “And I...I kind of protested too much when he told me to leave.”

 

 _“...As in?”_ Jinyoung says slowly, and Jackson makes a noise that probably isn’t too far off from something a dying whale would make.

 

“I...begged him...to let me stay…” Jackson admits meekly, squeezing his eyes shut. Here it comes, here it comes --

 

 _“You didn’t,”_ Jinyoung says flatly, and Jackson wants to roll right off the couch. _“Jackson, you’re such an idiot.”_

 

“You think I don’t know that by now?” Jackson laughs loudly, in an attempt to cover up his own shame.

 

Jackson hears another sigh over the line. _“If you do get on probation, just let me know. I’ll tell Namjoon, take care of him for you, I promise. I’m...sorry. I still feel really bad about...all of this.”_

 

“Hey, no, I couldn’t be mad at you for trying to help,” Jackson says quickly, frowning. Like, there are very few people that would be willing to put up with Jackson’s shit for more than five seconds (not that he really cares that much; he can be self-sufficient. Sometimes), and that list consists of Jinyoung, Mark, Namjoon, Youngjae, sometimes Zitao, and...yeah, that’s it.

 

 _“Yeah, okay now, you should go to bed and sleep. My hand is starting to hurt from holding my phone,”_ Jinyoung says dryly, and Jackson laughs again.

 

“Sure, sure. See ya,” Jackson says, smiling.

 

 _“See ya,”_ Jinyoung echoes, and then he hears him end the call.

 

Jackson makes himself comfortable on the couch, then (because fuck getting up), and he finds sleep just as easily as before. It’s always nice to be able to talk so much, but sleeping is equally satisfying. Really, he just -- he needs to rest.

 

\--

 

There are many times wherein Suga wishes he was a rock.

 

Often, it’s a longing spurred on by exhaustion, but while Suga is feeling _exceptionally_ tired this morning, he finds himself wishing he was a rock because fuck this _emotion_ thing, he _hates_ it and all of its little nuances (clearly, rocks do not have to suffer emotional crises, nor do they have to get up and move around).

 

Suga forces himself awake, sitting upright on his bed, and when he glances over at his clock, sees it’s nine. A shame; he only slept for four hours. It isn’t as if he has to worry about his sleeping schedule, though, he’s never really had one.

 

After fumbling with the light switch in his bathroom, he makes his way over to the sink, where he plants both palms down onto the counter. He hangs his head for a couple seconds, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes, and when he looks up, he’s greeted with a very tired and very irritated reflection of himself.

 

Suga runs his hand through his hair, fingertips combing through his bleached mint bangs, eyes falling shut. And it’s then that he realizes…

 

...his _hands_.

 

His _filthy_ hands, that were splattered with Namjoon’s blood, hands that held Namjoon’s face, hands that touched _Namjoon’s hands --_

 

He turns the faucet on quickly, running the water over every patch of skin on his hands, cleaning under his nails, rubbing at his knuckles hastily. He feels shame blooming in his stomach; he can't believe he was so _careless_ , to touch Namjoon so openly in a situation like that.

 

Suga meets his own eyes in his reflection; his cold, brown eyes. He's a leader of a _gang_ ; he should have more control than this. But here he is, in a black v-neck and boxer shorts, scrubbing away at his hands like there's no tomorrow, a slave to guilt and shame, and he feels _very_ un-leaderlike.

 

As he slicks his fingers up with soap, massaging each joint and running it under the tap, he thinks back to Friday night. Friday night, and all the shit that happened.

 

Suga had meant to ask Namjoon out on another date, maybe take him to the beach. And if he's being one hundred percent honest, he was looking forward to kissing him under the stars, slow and _sensual_.

 

But obviously, that didn't happen; instead, Namjoon gets _shot_ , and _then_ he confesses to Suga to not only liking him, but liking someone _else_ , too.

 

So what exactly is Suga supposed to do now? He told Namjoon he wasn't, isn't _, never_ will be mad at him, but is it alright to be mad at...Jackson?

 

Of course, Suga feels jealous, but none of this is...really _Jackson's_ fault. If anything, it's...it must be his _own_ fault, right?

 

Suga inspects his reflection closely -- there must be something that he lacks that Jackson has. He slowly begins to compare his own face to Jackson's. His own pale, milky skin, and Jackson's golden, healthy tan. His own limbs, lithe and lean, and Jackson's toned and powerful muscles. His own eyes, slanted, and dark; Jackson's wide, bright, and expressive ones.

 

He can't help but feel...inadequate.

 

Not just physically, but.. _.emotionally_ , too. It was evident that there was emotional disparity between himself and Jackson, with how Jackson was so openly _emotional_ about Namjoon. And there's the near-fist fight Jackson had tried to engage in; there was something about it that appeared...instinctual.

 

Suga would fight (especially for Namjoon), though it's typically when the situation demands it. But does Namjoon want someone that follows their intuition like Jackson? Their... _emotional_ reasoning?

 

If that's what Namjoon wants, or _prefers_ , then Suga's chances with Namjoon are fucked.

 

Suga remembers Youngjae complaining about Jackson from meeting to meeting, in between speakers during long meetings. “He's loud, and talkative, and wild and he's _always hungry_ ,” Youngjae had said once, when he had been explaining everything that had been stressing him out. “And he's also too nice for his own good. He drives me up the fucking walls, but I love him still,” he had added shortly after.

 

Suga turns the water to cold, kneading and rubbing at the skin of his hands until his palms are pink and raw. He feels frustrated and upset and this is the only way he knows how to vent.

 

After he's absolutely sure his hands have been properly rinsed, he strips from his under clothes, before returning to his room and changing into a pair of black pants and a black tee. He snags a Black Wine brand jacket, off its hanger, shrugging it over his shoulders.

 

As he's making his way downstairs, he wonders how relieving it would be to have someone listen to his dilemma --

 

 _No_ , Suga stops himself. He has to work this shit out himself; he's a _leader_ , and he can't show weakness, much less _pain_ , especially now that his life's been put on the line, and someone innocent (and wonderful and beautiful and _perfect_ ) was hurt in his stead. He winces, because his thoughts are being repeatedly redirected to Namjoon (though such an occurrence is far from being a rarity); Suga needs to think objectively for just two seconds.

 

As Suga reaches the foot of the stairs, his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of silverware being shifted around. He glances up, spotting Jungkook pouring cereal into two bowls.

 

Jungkook looks up after he’s poured milk into just one of the bowls, nodding acknowledgingly in Suga’s direction when he spots him. Suga assumes that he’s been tasked by Jin to escort him at the panel, since he’s dressed and wide awake (and also in Suga’s house without letting him know. Again).

 

Suga wordlessly makes his way over to the island counter, dropping himself down into one of the chairs. After he has his elbows rested on the edge of the counter, he closes his eyes, breathing in and out.

 

“You sleep okay?” Jungkook is asking, and Suga blinks his eyes open.

 

“No,” Suga responds, concise. He’d slept for four straight hours, but in all honesty, it felt like only five minutes.

 

“Are _you_ okay?” Jungkook has a brow raised as he’s digging his spoon into his cereal.

 

Suga clenches his jaw. “Do I look okay?” he says flatly. The words and his voice are sharp, but he knows none of it will pierce Jungkook at all.

 

Jungkook swallows down a bite of his cereal, and he taps his spoon against the edge of his bowl. “It’ll be alright, y’know. Namjoon’s gonna be fine,” he says, tone comforting.

 

“I know that,” Suga sighs. Of course he’s concerned for Namjoon -- he’s just been shot, he’s in a hospital room almost completely alone, and is probably going through his own emotional turmoil at this very moment (if he’s awake, that is). Presently, Suga is most concerned (and torn) about the...dilemma, amongst Namjoon, Suga himself, and Jackson.

 

“Then what’s wrong?” Jungkook yawns, leaning back against the counter.

 

Suga blinks at Jungkook, and then down at the other, untouched bowl cereal bowl. Suga knows the food isn’t meant for him, but Jimin, who he had spotted sleeping under a mass of blankets on the couch (Suga assumes this means Jimin will also be part of his escort, though he’s sleeping in surprisingly close to the time of the meeting). And Suga begins to think about how perfect Jimin and Jungkook’s relationship is; all smooth sailing and a whole lot of kissing and fucking. It’s endearing (and makes Suga _envious_ ), how easily they came together ( _stay_ together), so seamless, like _soulmates_ , and Suga wonders what Jungkook would have to say if he saw how fantastic Suga’s courtship with Namjoon was going.

 

“I have a question,” Suga says finally, sitting up in his chair.

 

“What’s up?” Jungkook hums, and Suga wonders how he’s actually gonna take the question.

 

“How the fuck do you and Jimin work,” Suga asks flatly, bluntly.

 

Jungkook swallows, blinking. “Uh, you mean fucking? Or what? Because I’m pretty sure you know how we fuck since you fucked us all, too. A really long time ago.”

 

Suga throws Jungkook a very unamused glower, repressing to urge to just get up and leave. He can’t leave, though, no matter how _annoying_ Jungkook is, because he probably knows a lot better about...relationships, than most others (if Jimin were awake and making cereal instead, Suga would be having the same problem).

 

“No, _fuck_ \-- I meant how do you and Jimin…” Suga pauses. He’s not actually sure what you call what Jungkook has with Jimin. Whatever it is, it’s healthier than what most relationships are like. Fuck it -- “How do you two relationship?” he gives a frustrated hand motion.

 

Jungkook sets his spoon down in his bowl, nodding in understanding. “Oh, you mean how do you love someone?”

 

Suga feels his throat get tight. “...Yeah,” he says, and he’s well aware of the temperature rising in his face, his skin, all over. It feels odd to say it out loud like that, and he’s never said anything remotely similar to it in his life.

 

“Relax, I knew what you were talking about from the start; I was just messing with you,” Jungkook is laughing a little, and _Jeon motherfucking-Jungkook_ \-- “But what brought this on? I thought you and Namjoon were doing okay,” Jungkook says, quirking a brow.

 

Suga wants to laugh, because if only Jungkook knew.

 

“Do you need advice on something? Want to make him a romantic dinner to take into the hospital?” Jungkook asks, when Suga doesn't respond verbally. And then he adds, in the same tone, “Or do you want to know how to fuck him in the hospital without anyone noticing? Because, I mean, it’s difficult, but I’ve done it before.”

 

“ _No_ , he's just been shot in the fucking shoulder,” Suga says, but already he's thinking about hovering over Namjoon, about sliding a hand up his thigh and under his hospital gown and kissing him and Namjoon _moaning_ Suga's name, begging for more -- fuck.

 

“It was a joke,” Jungkook is laughing again (what a _fucker_ ). And then he smirks. “But I know you're thinking about it right now. And that you've probably thought about it before.”

 

“Jeon Jungkook,” Suga grits out warningly, and his face feels warm.

 

“Alright, I'll save that conversation for another day. What do you want to know?” Jungkook smirks, setting his bowl on the counter.

 

Suga exhales; he doesn't even _know_ what he wants to know. But after a second, finally decides on the simplest way of putting it. He breathes in. “How do you deal with -- ”

 

He gives a brief explanation of everything he found out the night before. Namjoon’s confession, Namjoon’s _other_ confession, and Jackson, and how _clearly_ Jackson feels about Namjoon. He ends up talking a lot longer than he anticipated he would, but he doesn’t notice until he realizes just how dry his throat feels.

 

“Oh. Huh,” Jungkook says when he's done, and at least Suga knows he's not being... _extremely_ critical.

 

“Should I give up and let him be happy with Jackson?” Suga closes his eyes again, breathing slowly. He just wants Namjoon to be _happy_ , but deep down, there's a little voice asking why Suga can't be happy, too (he _hates_ that voice; he's a _leader_ , and happiness shouldn't be his priority).

 

Jungkook frowns, blinking, as if Suga’s told him he can’t have sex with Jimin at his house anymore. “Dude, fuck no; giving up is the worst thing you could do to yourself,” Jungkook is quick to answer, certain and unwavering. “I can tell you really like Namjoon. A lot.”

 

Suga's silent; it seems as though he’s about to get that advice he was looking for.

 

“Look; you want to be in a relationship with him, that’s pretty obvious. And you just now told me he wants that, too, so -- ” Jungkook scrunches up his nose, as if he’s thinking, and after a second continues. “ -- look at it this way: in some aspects, a relationship is similar to a no strings attached thing -- you have your partner, and you have yourself. You communicate whatever you want; sex toys, kinks, safe words, and you don’t do stuff you aren’t comfortable with. You remember doing that with me, yeah?”

 

Suga nods; _that_ sort of relationship is something he’s more experienced with; it’s almost like bread and butter for him.

 

“So my point is, you have your partner’s needs and _your_ own needs. You can’t make your own partner happy and fulfill all their needs if _you’re_ not happy,” Jungkook says, licking his lips. “That’s what an unhealthy relationship is, or what it can be. And you also need communication --  which, clearly, Namjoon is willing to share, because he was honest with you.”

 

“Is what Namjoon and I have even...real?” Suga asks aloud. Is it? Suga’s kissed him, and held his hand, bought him things and written music with him, but...he’s not sure if that solidifies a relationship as _serious_ . He’s never had to do anything like this, in his friends-with-benefits relationships, and it’s so _difficult_ to understand everything.

 

“You have what people call a healthy start.” Jungkook nods. “Which is why I’m saying you have yourself, _and_ your partner. You and Namjoon are ‘connected,’ in whatever cliche way you want to see it as. But if _you_ pull, he’s either going to pull _back_ , or fall forward.”

 

Suga blinks rapidly, frowning. “What the fuck does that mean,” he says, and Jungkook’s expression falls flat.

 

“Y’know, when I used the friends with benefits comparison, I said there were only _some_ aspects that were similar. Especially this: you can’t just say ‘bye,’ and leave at this stage you’re at with Namjoon,” Jungkook sighs, eyes alight with thought, and Suga understands he’s frustrated, but that’s good, because now they can both be frustrated. “I know you’re used to being able to walk out without any issues or hurting anyone’s feelings, but you don’t. Do that. With a serious relationship,” he says, breathy, flicking his bangs out of his eyes.

 

Suga runs both of his hands through his bangs, digging his fingers into his scalp. “This is so difficult,” he mumbles, eyes shut.

 

“Hey, get it together. I’m _younger_ than you, and also, you’re a leader,” Jungkook says, and Suga hates to admit that he’s right (again).

 

“I _know_ ,” Suga grunts, but his voice is tired and strained.

 

Jungkook sighs, and Suga sees him tapping a finger against the countertop. “I know this is difficult, but it’s gonna take time and _patience_. You’ve barely given yourself one chance, and you’re already thinking about giving up,” he says firmly, brows still furrowed.

 

And -- well, if Jungkook puts it that way.

 

“I dunno how else to put it, but you like him, he likes you, and even if he does like someone else, that doesn’t change the fact that _he likes you and you like him_ . It’s a _healthy start_ , so just...try it,” Jungkook says with finality, and he’s throwing Suga a sympathetic look (it’s not one of pity, thank god). “If you leave, you’ll never know how it would’ve worked out. You will always, _always_ , regret not trying. And even if you do try, and it doesn’t work out like you want it to, at least you tried your best to be happy, to make _him_ happy. At least you can leave without any regrets,” he says, confident and he just sounds so _sure_.

 

Suga stares at Jungkook, and for just a moment, he can actually taste what it’d feel like to be happy with Namjoon, to have Namjoon be happy. To be happy _together._

 

And then there’s movement from the couch, and before Suga can even turn his head the barest degree, Jungkook’s already made a full one-eighty towards the sound. It’s Jimin (obviously; from Jungkook’s reaction), who’s shifting beneath his blankets, finally waking up. Suga’s almost impressed at how he managed to sleep through their whole conversation (but he’s definitely glad he did, otherwise everything would have turned into sparkles and unfiltered happiness).

 

Jimin rises from the couch slowly, stretching his arms toward the sky, and Suga peeks over at Jungkook to see him swallowing hard, but there’s that special, warm look he gets in his eyes whenever he sees Jimin. Suga sees the same thing in Jimin whenever he’s looking at Jungkook.

 

And then Jimin’s walking toward the kitchen, steps slow as he rubs his eye with his knuckles. “ _Kooookieeee,_ ” is all he says, voice tapering off into a yawn.

 

“Hey, Minnie,” Jungkook says back, and he’s already pushing up and off of the counter, and _seriously_ \--

 

“Excuse me,” Suga clears his throat. There are still... _things_ that need clarification.

 

Jungkook gives Suga a short glance over his shoulder, mouthing the word _later,_ as he opens his arms the second Jimin walks right into his chest for a disgusting(ly heartwarming) hug.

 

“Morning, baby,” Jungkook croons, running his fingers through Jimin’s already-messy brown hair and holding him close. “Ready to go out soon?”

 

“I’m hungry,” Jimin mumbles into Jungkook’s chest, arms lazily draped over Jungkook’s shoulders.

 

Jungkook leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, nudging his bangs to the side with his nose. “I poured some cereal for you. Your favorite kind,” he says softly, moving further down to press a couple of kisses to Jimin’s closed eyelids.

 

“Babe,” Jimin says, raising his head from Jungkook’s chest to look him in the eyes. “Babe, I love you.”

 

“Love you, too,” Jungkook smiles, and then they’re...they’re kissing on the lips.

 

It’s not the first time Suga’s seen Jungkook and Jimin be so affectionate, but somehow...watching them now, he feels appreciative. As annoyingly in love as they are, Jimin and Jungkook provide the perfect model for everything relationship related. At least when Suga needs some tips, he’ll have the perfect example right in front of him.

 

“You smell nice. Like…,” Jungkook is moving his nose to Jimin’s cheekbone, and Suga can hear him inhale. “...cinnamon rolls.”

 

Jimin laughs, kissing at Jungkook’s cheek (Suga thinks of Namjoon, then, and his dimples and his laugh and his smile -- ). “That’s Jin’s fault for making us bake all that stuff,” he mumbles back, scrunching his nose up.

 

“I’m not complaining,” Jungkook sighs, leaning in closer to Jimin, and wait --

 

“Bake what?” Suga asks pointedly, chin rested against his fist.

 

Jimin blinks over at Suga. “Jin made us help him stress cook a bunch of stuff before he left to get you from the hospital. We were his victims since we were staying here waiting for you,” he says, still sounding a little sleepy, and his attention redirects toward Jungkook when he starts whispering something into his ear. He laughs, tugging Jungkook’s face toward his lips for another soft kiss, and --

 

Suga can only take so much romance for so long, and he’s nearing the point where he’s going to throw up because it’s so...sweet. And so fucking -- _perfect_.

 

“I’m leaving for the panel,” Suga says, even though neither of them are paying him any attention. Exemplary guards, making out instead of getting ready for what could be a total shit fest.

 

Suga steps off onto the ground from his chair, making his way toward the garage, but he takes a bite of one of the cinnamon rolls (fuck, there are _four trays of them_ and _five trays of scones_ ) on the counter before he makes his exit. Jimin and Jungkook both call after him, “We’ll catch up with you!” before he closes the door behind him.

 

As he heads out for the panel, Suga wonders what it would be like to wake up with Namjoon in the morning just like that -- holding him, feeding him, whispering sweet nothings to him, _kissing him_. It’s a sort of routine that Jimin and Jungkook run regularly, but for Suga, it’s all new territory.

 

Suga’s early, he realizes as he park -- he can tell as much from the lack of bikes parked out front. He stuffs his keys into his pocket after he pulls up, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks at a leisure pace toward the entrance.

 

Each step is heavy, weighed down with stress and responsibility. He hasn’t even thought of what to say (other than he wants someone served on a silver platter, warm and alive, just so he can tear them to fucking bits and know they feel the same pain Namjoon felt. Only worse, of course), and on top of that, he’s probably going to fall asleep trying to endure the rest of the bullshit everyone’s going to have to say.

 

Suga’s nearing the door, just about to reach his hand up to pull it open, when the sound of buoyant footsteps comes thundering by, and there’s already a hand gripping the door handle before he even has a finger on the metal.

 

“Morning, Suga!” comes the ever-so-jubilant greeting. Suga blinks his eyes open a little wider.

 

“Hey, Youngjae,” Suga nods, and he steps inside once Youngjae’s opened the door.

 

“Ready for two hours of unnecessary bullshit?” Youngjae’s smile is absolutely stellar, and Suga would be lying if he didn’t feel a little more awake (it’s undeniably entertaining to see someone so bright-hearted swear so easily).

 

“Am I ever?” Suga snorts, and Youngjae laughs, keeping pace at his side.

 

“If you’re tired, put your hood up; maybe no one will notice you’re sleeping,” Youngjae suggests thoughtfully.

 

“Maybe I could just replace myself with a rock and go home,” Suga clips (wouldn’t that be nice?).

 

Youngjae sighs, arms folded. “Honestly, same,” he says airily.

 

“Except not today,” Suga says lowly. Not when he has to find out who the fuck nearly got Namjoon killed. “What a shame,” he says under his breath.

 

The conference room is mostly bare, just like the parking lot, and after checking his phone his phone, sees he has fifteen minutes left until the panel actually starts. He holds a groan down in his throat as he takes his seat; he has a bad feeling this meeting is going to be a while.

 

“You didn’t bring any escorts?” Youngjae says from the side, and when Suga glances up, he sees him looking around.

 

“Jimin and Jungkook? They’re eating. I didn’t want to wait for them to finish. They’ll be around later,” Suga says, leaving out the entire, _making out and saying disgusting, sweet shit to each other_ part. He wonders if Namjoon would like it if he kissed him that softly -- no.

 

“Ooh, okay,” Youngjae nods. “I saw Jin at the hospital. Said hi to him,” he says, smiling, but Suga can tell he’s worried about something. If it were because of Jimin and Jungkook, Suga wouldn’t be surprised, because everyone’s scared shitless of them (“It’s the power of _true love_ , Suga.” “It’s the power of being annoying.”), but he doubts that’s what actually bothering Youngjae (and Youngjae would be one of the last people to be scared over Jimin and Jungkook; the three of them get along well enough).

 

“Yeah. Hospital post. Standing guard,” Suga says. “And you’re missing Mark,” Suga he notes (not that his absence is anything huge; the blonde is quiet, almost unnoticeable).

 

“Yeah -- oh, he’s at the hospital, too. He’s with Jin,” Youngjae says, and that’s understandable -- Jin and Mark have spent some time with each other before, even off of posts. “But I did bring in a new guy, Yugyeom. Thought I’d show him the ropes for panels, let him get his feet wet,” Youngjae smiles, looking proud and he straightens his shoulders.

 

Suga nods, but he's not feeling too interested in hearing about another new kid. He does make sure to take in whatever few details he thinks are important, though, as Youngjae goes on and on about this Kim Yugyeom (specifically that he’s tall, red haired, is very skilled in hand to hand combat, and he's also very tall).

 

“ -- and not only that, he once went solo for a job meant for four guys, and he _still_ ended up getting it done. Without breaking anything, too, haha,” Youngjae says enthusiastically, and Suga gives another polite nod, but his eyes are trained downward, toward his hands.

 

Youngjae finally chooses to speak up about his blatant disinterest then, tilting his head. Suga would feel bad, but he's tired and deep in thought, so he doesn't.

“You look stressed out,” Youngjae says after the silence between them goes on for a few moments.

 

Suga blinks, not moving his eyes away from his hands. Youngjae's smart; he can figure out he's tired (hopefully that's _all_ he'll figure out).

 

“I mean, I guess I’d be stressed out, too,” Youngjae laughs a little, and --

 

“What?” Suga turns his head up to look Youngjae in the eye. The first thing he thinks of is _Namjoon_ , and what if Youngjae knows, is going to ask for something? Initially, Youngjae had brushed it off as a simple civilian matter, but Namjoon isn't _just_ a civilian to Suga. Youngjae doesn't...doesn't do shit like that, doesn't ask for much (especially not from Suga), but this is _Namjoon_ , and Suga's feeling more on edge than he typically does.

 

“You know; the shooting last night? The thing you called me for? I heard from Jin you stayed in his hospital room all night.” Youngjae waves his hand, almost dismissive, and Suga feels something in his throat tighten.

 

“I did,” Suga says, tucking his hands into his pockets and flexing his fingers. No, he has to be assertive; Namjoon’s important to him (and lovely and sweet and perfect) and he's going to show it. “I stayed up all night,” he says firmly, sitting up straighter in his chair.

 

Youngjae makes an acknowledging nod, humming, and Suga tenses. He expects him to ask how far is he willing to go for him, expects him to frown and tell him he’d better take care of Namjoon --

 

The lights dim, and the room quiets. It's the signal for the meeting to begin. “This'll be fun,” Youngjae's hushed whisper reaches Suga's ears, but Suga stares face front.

 

The rest of the leaders are making their way into the room, one by one. He sees Shownu, the secondary leader of his gang, make his way to the opposite end of the table, immediately chatting up Kibum. And then he sees some of the newer faces, a kid with bleached hair, Jinwoo, and another, slightly older-looking guy, Seungcheol.

 

Jimin and Jungkook appear behind Suga barely a minute after the leaders have begun to make their way to their seats. “Sorry we’re late,” Jungkook whispers. “Got caught up chatting with the guy who’s here for Youngjae.” He nods towards a _very_ tall red haired kid, who moves to stand behind Youngjae. Suga just snorts in acknowledgement, nodding, and the two of them situate themselves behind Suga’s seat.

 

Contrary to Youngjae's (sarcastic) remark about how _this will be fun_ , there is no fun to be found throughout the entire panel. It's incredibly boring to have to listen to the same shit from the same people, and he has to grind his teeth together more than five times to stifle a yawn.

 

To make it worse, he's feeling anxious, now, trying to formulate what he's going to say about Namjoon, about the fucker that nearly killed him. He keeps thinking of _Namjoon_ , _Namjoon_ , _Namjoon_ , and with Youngjae to his immediate right, he's having even more trouble focusing his thoughts.

 

Suga tries to focus in on what Suho has to say about a banking acquisition, how they've gained control of a new company and obviously are _richer_ . He tries to pay attention to Jungsoo’s recounting of the different hits they've made in the past month, tries to listen to Eungkwan’s talk about use of _guard dogs_ , but he can't seem to properly induce any state of full attentiveness (he keeps thinking of _Namjoon_ ). Occasionally, Jimin will whisper questions about the statements, asking if Suga wants them to pay attention to anything in particular, but since Suga really isn’t paying attention at all himself, he tells Jimin to just focus on the usual.

 

And then it's Youngjae's turn to talk, and Suga's able to at least keep his eyes all the way open (Youngjae seems to be a natural speaker; loud and almost theatrical).

 

“So it's the end of the month, and there are a handful of you that _owe me_ ,” Youngjae stands from his seat, grinning as if he's announcing that he’s adopted another dog or cat. “I’ve counted twenty-five thousand dollars missing, and five fuckers that need to pay up. _Today_ ,” he sing songs, fingers drumming against the edge of the table.

 

There’s a round of murmurs, nervous laughter, too, and Suga doesn’t think Youngjae’s smile falters for even a second.

 

“I made the transaction this morning,” Suga hears off to the left, recognizing Hakyeon’s voice.

 

“That’s fantastic! Except, you still owe me the two thousand dollar fee for private housing,” Youngjae says almost sweetly, straightening his shoulders. “I trust that’s getting looked into?”

 

Hakyeon sighs quietly, but he nods, giving a curt, “Yes, it is.”

 

“Perfect! So that leaves -- ” and Youngjae continues to list off the four other names, and Suga clenches his fist as he goes from name to name. He keeps thinking of Namjoon, if Youngjae will demand that he pay for a used favor, accuse Namjoon of being Suga’s _lover_ (the thought of that _might_ have his heart racing), and thus being directly connected to him.

 

Only, Youngjae never says his name. He never even makes eye contact with Suga, just keeps his finger pointed at four other people Suga could care less about. It puts Suga to ease, but then another thought arises: why would Youngjae choose to dismiss something that had the potential (more like the definite ability) to temporarily control Suga’s finance? It’s...unrealistic, but nonetheless, a possibility, and unsettling.

 

And then Youngjae’s finished, wrapping up with a quick rundown of the month before he sits down. He gives Suga a warm smile, straightening out the edge of his blazer, and Suga feels the attention in the room shift toward himself.

 

It’s Suga’s turn now.

 

Suga rises from his seat slowly, pushing his chair back with deliberate control. As he shakes his bangs from his eyes, he plants the tips of his fingers on the cool, glass table, and gives the room a sweeping look.

 

 _Control,_ control, he tells himself as his gaze flickers from face to face. He can’t show how this all truly affects him -- he’s furious, of course, but also...worried, and that’s not something he can show, especially not in this room.

 

Some people shift uncomfortably in their chairs as he glances around the room, and at least that’s a sign that his intimidation is working. He lets the silence in the room stretch on, and on, until he’s absolutely sure he has everyone in the room appropriately on the edge of their seat.

 

“Okay,” Suga breathes in deep. “Listen up, you _fuckers_ : I want whoever the _fuck_ fucked up to come the _fuck_ forward. I’m in the mood to fucking _kill_ a bitch, so god help the mother _fucker_ that chooses to lie to my fucking face, right here, right now,” he spits, low, voice brimming with acid.

 

The room is dead silent, but far from at ease. Some leaders are blinking down at the table ( _cowards_ , Suga thinks), while some look at him with glints of nervousness in their eyes.

 

And Suga waits. Waits until the snake, the _bastard_ that thought they could try and make a hit off of him at free zone -- thought they could just hurt _Namjoon_ and walk away clean -- shows his fucking face.

 

And when there’s movement, his eyes snap over to identify the one who’ll be one of the first to taste the metal of his bullets.

 

“It was a rogue incident.” It’s Seungyoon -- the leader of the gang that was utterly flattened in the recent acquisition Suga had made from them -- standing slowly with his hands raised (it doesn’t make Suga any less inclined to want to crush his skull in). “An unstable kid got...emotional. Over the lost acquisition. They were just shaken up.”

 

Suga snorts. “Rogue incident, unstable persona, fresh feet; I couldn’t give a _fuck_ if he didn’t speak English and was blind in one eye,” he bites back, every word filled with venom. “Doesn’t change the fact that he nearly fucking -- ” _killed Namjoon, and hurt him anyways_ \-- “ -- _killed_ me, broke code at the Freezone, and got a _civilian_ shot.”

 

“It was just an accident; I’ll make sure it won’t happen again, I promise,” Seungyoon swallows, but Suga won’t have any of it.

 

“Fuck that. _I_ intend to make sure it won’t happen again,” Suga grits out, fingers flexing into fists against the glass table (he’s distantly aware of how Jimin gives a whistle at that; Jungkook humming, too). _No one_ is _ever_ going to hurt Namjoon like that again, _ever_.

 

Seungyoon seems to shrink at that, and Suga wishes he was close enough to shove him onto the fucking ground, because _is this a fucking joke?_ It’s _unbelievable_ that Namjoon almost _died_ because this _fucker_ couldn’t get a fucking handle on one -- fucking -- _rookie_.

 

“No wait time. I want his fucking ass the second I step out of this fucking building,” Suga says, voice nearing a yell, but he keeps himself level. He stares as darkly as he can straight at Seungyoon, awaiting his response.

 

“...he’s been missing for the past four hours,” Seungyoon says quietly, and Suga could just fucking flip this piece of shit glass table right fucking then and there.

 

“So you’ll know why he’ll be missing for the rest of his fucking life,” Suga says, narrowing his eyes.

 

Seungyoon just nods, sinks back into his seat. “I’ll have his profile emailed to you after the panel,” he mumbles, eyes downcast.

 

“Good,” Suga says, and then, tone gone cold, adds, “I don’t ever want to have to deal with bullshit like this again. _Ever_ . I’m setting up a watch for this fucker; do _not_ interfere.”

 

He sees Seungyoon swallow, nod again, and Suga directs his next words to the whole room.

 

“And _all of you_ need to watch your fucking members. I don’t give five fucks about their age, their status, their mental state; a fuck up is a fuck up. Let this be a warning for whoever decides they’re gonna be too lenient,” Suga sweeps his gaze over the room, loud, clear.

 

And with that, Suga sits down. He’s finished.

 

Immediately, he looks to Youngjae, because this all does tie into _him_ in the end, and he’s surprised to see him --

 

\-- smiling?

 

Suga averts his gaze, and he’d be less than willing to admit he’s...caught off guard. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting from him -- he’d anticipated raised eyebrows or a look of concern. But a _smile_?

 

The remainder of the panel is just a blur; voices and words and sentences that Suga doesn’t let very far into the banks of his memory. Nothing worth keeping note of is said, and the instant the last leader takes his seat, Suga is up and out of the room in an instant.

 

“Looking forward to this week,” Jimin chimes, when he, Jungkook, and Suga have made it to the lobby.

 

“I’m looking forward to sleep,” Suga mutters, because he’s still _exhausted_. But first -- “I need to go see Namjoon. You both can rest at my place. As long as there’s no -- ” he gives them both a knowing look, but Jimin just snickers, eyeing Jungkook as his hand winds down to rest on his hip.

 

“Of course,” Jimin nods, but is already whispering something in Jungkook’s ear.

 

Suga rolls his eyes, waves them off with his hand. “I mean it. Watch the couches; Jin said he’s not gonna clean up after you for a whole week,” he sighs begrudgingly, not even trying to restrain a grimace when Jimin starts kissing at Jungkook’s ear (would Namjoon like it if Suga did that with him?).

 

“Of course,” Jungkook says, in the same tone Jimin had used, laughing softly as Jimin reaches up on his toes to reach higher.

 

Suga rolls his eyes again, turning back toward the main entrance to avoid death by a lethal dose of affection. He starts thinking of Namjoon, if he’s awake, if he’s in pain, or if he’s still dreaming, blissfully asleep and lax. Just thinking of Namjoon’s smile, his _dimples_ , already has Suga walking faster, and he’s reaching out for the door, when --

 

“So, you and that hospital-patient-person guy?” Youngjae is humming from his side, pushing the door open, and Suga almost chokes, because -- because --

 

“Yes.” The word is out of Suga’s mouth in an instant, and suddenly he feels light headed, nerves cold. He doesn’t dare break eye contact with Youngjae, steeling himself up to brace for demands or threats.

 

Except --

 

“Congratulations!” Youngjae cheers, with a clap of his hands, and -- what?

 

“I -- ” Suga stops himself, frowning, and his step stutters just the slightest. “What?”

 

Youngjae closes the door behind them as they step outside, and he’s smiling at Suga when he turns to face him. “I’m so happy you’ve found someone! I’ve always wondered if you were going to try and find something like what your two friends have. Be happy! I promise we’ll take good care of him, free of charge,” he gushes, and Suga can’t help but stare (is he...is he dreaming? Did Jin put something in those cinnamon rolls?).

 

Suga swallows, glancing around him, praying no one heard any of that (as much as it does make his heart sing).

 

“Oh. Uh -- thank...you?” Suga says, and he thinks his face is warming a little.

 

Youngjae nods, still smiling. “I didn’t get to talk to him, but I checked up on him while he was sleeping. I’m sure he’s a nice person; what do _you_ think of him?” he says, inquisitive.

 

“He’s perfect,” Suga says without a second thought, and _fuck_ , he’s never said something so _sentimental_ in his life.

 

“Damn, that’s some high praise -- sounds like you two’ll be happy together,” Youngjae chirps, wringing his hands out.

 

And. Huh. Suga’s just now realizing that this is the Seventh’s leader, giving him the green light to be with Namjoon. _Jackson’s_ _superior_. Giving him the green light (not that he cares what Jackson wants; it’s _Namjoon’s_ opinion that really matters here). That sort of feels...validating.

 

“You...really think so?” Suga clears his throat, blinking rapidly.

 

“ _Definitely_. When he’s feeling better, you should take him out for a romantic dinner, go to a music festival. Romance is fun! Make out with him lots, sweet talk him, and maybe fuck him over a piano,” Youngjae chimes, elated, and wait a second, one of these things is not like the rest --

 

“What?” Suga repeats, staring after Youngjae.

 

Youngjae just pulls his phone out, and after a quick look at what must have been his clock, he looks up at Suga with a smile. “Speaking of which, I actually have a dinner with my own babe tonight, gotta make sure that’s all planned out!” he says, enthused.

 

Suga blinks. “It’s noon.”

 

Youngjae just mounts his bike, and before he pulls his helmet on he laughs, shrugging. “Dinner isn’t the _only_ thing I’m planning out,” he says, and Suga just stares. “See you, Suga!” Youngjae waves, and then he’s driving off.

 

Suga takes a good few seconds to process the past five minutes of his life. He feels almost out-of-body, weightless. He feels...happy. Or maybe determined is a more fitting word. Now, having Youngjae’s support, paired with Jungkook’s advice, he’s starting to feel like he does have a chance with Namjoon. A chance that they can both be happy. Together.

 

“Fuck him over a piano, _Jesus_ ,” Suga mutters to himself as he starts his bike up. Youngjae must try a number of elaborate... _things_ with his boyfriend.

 

But what if Namjoon _is_ into that sort of thing? Suga supposes there’s a first time for everything --

 

“Fuck!” he yells at himself as he drives out of the parking lot.

 

\--

 

The first thing Namjoon notices when he wakes up is the slamming of his hospital room door, followed by a very familiar and loud, “ _Kim Namjoon_!!”

 

Namjoon groans, and if he could roll onto his side, he would, but hey, his shoulder’s been shot and he’s kind of really in pain. All he can do is keep his eyes closed and ready himself for a lot of yelling and scolding (he feels like an eight year old about to be lectured for talking without raising their hand).

 

“Kim Namjoon -- ” he hears Hoseok stomping over to his bedside, and he doesn’t dare open his eyes. “I wake up to Taetae banging on my door at four in the morning, telling me that you’ve been _shot_ at work!! In the shoulder! And taken to the hospital!”

 

Namjoon blinks his eyes open then, swallowing, and he opens his mouth to apologize and just _explain_ , but Hoseok just keeps going on.

 

“Where was your call?! Huh? Just thought it’d be okay to not tell me you nearly _died_?! Do you know how worried I was? I almost drove here immediately, but Taetae told me to stay home until I’d stopped fucking crying!” Hobi is now making wild, sweeping gestures with his hands and arms, and Namjoon would laugh if he didn’t feel so guilty. “And then I fell asleep. But that’s besides the point!”

 

“Hobi, I’m sorry, I -- ” Namjoon starts, but is cut off when Hoseok dives forward for a hug, and _fuck!!_ _His!! Shoulder!! Ow!!_

 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Hoseok is...sniffling? And Namjoon would love to tell him _There, there_ , and give him a hug or pat on the back, but he’s about to be sniffling, too, if Hobi doesn’t get off his fucking shoulder _this instant holy shit --_

 

“Ho...bi...” Namjoon croaks, trying to focus on something other than the splitting pain in his shoulder, and he exhales loud and long when Hobi rises from his bear hug.

 

“Don’t _ever_ do that to me again, or I swear to god I’m never making you tea again,” Hoseok says, wiping at his eyes.

 

“Hey, I said I’m sorry. And I’ve been drugged up for the past like, nine hours, I’ve been bleeding out, and also I don’t think I even have my phone with me. I think...I think Jinyoung has all my stuff,” Namjoon says, wincing as he sits up just the slightest bit. He looks at Hoseok’s eyes a little closer, and he feels a stab of guilt when he sees that they do seem a little red; he can’t imagine how long he could have been crying.

 

Hoseok folds his arms, frowning. “Well, he’s guilty by association!” he says snappily. “Ugh, I can’t believe _he_ didn’t even tell me anything, I’m going to tear him a new one.”

 

Namjoon laughs softly. “It wasn’t his fault. I think I’d be in shock if I saw someone get shot,” he says. And then he glances over to the counter, tries to jerk his head in the general direction of Jinyoung’s cardigan (there’s no blood? Maybe someone took it to dry cleaners). “And he gave me his cardigan. That was helpful.”

 

“Oh, so he could give you his cardigan, but he couldn’t make _one fucking call_ ,” Hoseok rolls his eyes disapprovingly.

 

“Hey, that’s not all he did -- ” Namjoon sighs, but then-- yeah, that’s not all Jinyoung did.

 

Namjoon starts to remember Jinyoung telling him he had to talk to Jackson, talk to Suga. He remembers him taking him by the shoulders and shaking him like he was trying to empty out a fucking pinata. He remembers him tying his gray cardigan around his shoulder, remembers him rolling his eyes when Namjoon suggested he get some alcohol, remembers him telling Namjoon he’d be okay before he was pulled up and onto a stretcher.

 

Now that Namjoon’s done what Jinyoung had told him, he kind of wishes he was here, to help him through this stage of...Namjoon doesn’t even know what it is. He could kind of use a little yelling from Jinyoung (and yes, maybe he did kind of deserve all that yelling from Hobi).

 

“Yeah, whatever he did, calling me wasn’t among those things,” Hoseok says crossly, and when Namjoon doesn’t say anything, his posture loosens. “Hey, something wrong? I mean, other than your shoulder?”

 

“Nah, it’s nothing,” Namjoon shakes his head quickly; he can be miserable later, when he’s alone. Hoseok’s probably feeling emotional enough already.

 

Hoseok sighs, pressing his lips together and squinting, like he doesn’t believe Namjoon (he probably doesn’t). But all he does is raise a thermos into view, setting it on Namjoon’s bedside table.

 

“Well, I brought you chamomile tea to help with the pain. Don’t drink it yet! It’s like, a thousand degrees still,” Hoseok says airily, tapping his knuckles against the table.

 

“I’m not that dumb,” Namjoon rolls his eyes (yeah; there’s no way he’s ever tried to drink tea right after it’s been brewed. Never).

 

“If that’s what you wanna think,” Hoseok says with raised brows. And then he peers over his shoulder. “Hi, Jin, hope I wasn’t too loud,” he says, and Namjoon almost double takes, because _fuck_ , he did _not_ know that Jin had been standing there for that long.

 

Jin, who’s standing aside the counter, gives a small wave and smile. “It’s okay, you can talk as long as you want,” he says, crossing one leg over the other, and it’s then that Namjoon realizes that...neither Suga nor Jackson are there. No platinum blonde hair, no soft mint bangs. He can’t help but feel a little...disappointed. Empty, even.

 

When Jin’s eyes flicker over to Namjoon, his cocks his head to the side and laughs. “Aw, are you looking for Suga? He left earlier to go to a meeting,” he coos, as if he’s comforting a little kid that’s scraped their knee (why is everyone treating Namjoon like a kid? Yeah, maybe he’s been shot and stuff, but he’s not _five_ ).

 

Namjoon flushes, feeling cornered, and he looks down at his lap. “Oh. Uh. Okay,” he says quietly, swallowing. But it’s not just Suga’s whereabouts that he’s wondering about; where’s Jackson? The bathroom, maybe? Not like he could ask Jin if he knew, though. Nope. No way.

 

“Don’t look so down; he’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Jin hums, tapping his foot against the floor, and that’s a little comforting (would Suga come back straight after his meeting? That thought of that kind of...does things to Namjoon’s heart rate).

 

“Okay, well. I’m glad I got to see you’re still a breathing, functioning, thinking, human being, but I’ve got work,” Hoseok pipes up, then, and he’s standing. “You’ll make sure he doesn’t drink his tea early, right?” he directs at Jin, and hey, _rude_. Namjoon is more than capable of keeping track of time on his own.

 

“I could set a timer,” Jin shrugs, and he’s actually pulling out his phone.

 

“Thanks, it just needs another fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe, with the cap on,” Hoseok grins, and before Namjoon can stop him, he’s already leaning down again to hug (read: _torture_ ) Namjoon, and Namjoon thinks he almost dies as he gets his arms around him.

 

“Okay. Cool. Bye,” Namjoon barely grits out, trying not to scream.

 

“Bye!” Hoseok nods, pulling away. “I’ll bring back cupcakes. See you!”

 

“See you,” Namjoon grins, waving his hand a little.

 

“Don’t hurt yourself. I mean it!” Hoseok stops at the door, pointing straight at Namjoon.

 

“I’m not that dumb!” Namjoon yells back, but he’s laughing as he says it, and he catches Hoseok smiling before he closes the door.

 

“Nice friend you have. Tae introduced me to him a little while ago,” Jin says after a second. “Did he say he was bringing back cupcakes?”

 

“Uh. I guess so?” Namjoon says, blinking.

 

“Oh. I’m starving right now, though,” Jin frowns, and then stands upright, walking over to Namjoon and placing his phone near his hand. “I’m gonna go buy some stuff from the vending machine. I set a timer for your tea -- did you want anything? Blankets, pillows?”

 

“N...actually. Yeah. If there’s anything with chocolate, I guess you can just pick something,” Namjoon says slowly (he’s not breaking any rules by eating normal food in a hospital, right?).

 

“‘Kay, I’ll be right back. If you need something, you can use my phone; it’s unlocked,” Jin says, before leaving and closing the door softly.

 

Namjoon sighs as the click of the door fills the room. He’s still feeling dead tired, despite having slept for eight hours straight.

 

“I’m so done. There’s no way I could be more done with life,” Namjoon says to himself, letting his head fall back against the pillow, closing his eyes. He focuses on the sound of his heart beat monitor, beeping slow and steady, until it fades into silence --

 

And then there’s the sound of the door opening again, and Namjoon jolts awake (did he really just now fall asleep?), expecting to see Jackson, all bright smiles and a black leather jacket or tank top, or Jin pushing the door open, except --

 

That’s definitely not either of them.

 

It’s Mark.

 

Namjoon stiffens, and now he’s _really_ feeling trapped, watching as Mark steps into the room, his smile disarming but eyes predatorial. And as he closes the door behind him, he actually starts to feel...afraid. Like Mark’s here to kill him, or seriously hurt him, and despite Namjoon having a very strong desire to punch Mark in the face, he’s not feeling to ready to even move a leg.

 

 _Scratch that_ , Namjoon tells himself, clenching his hands into fists. _I’m even more done now; fuck you, life._

 

Mark moves over to the foot of his bed, staring down at Namjoon with some spiteful expression, before he turns and leans back against the edge of the bed. His back is turned to Namjoon, but Namjoon is willing to bet he’s still smirking.

 

“When I heard Jackson had stayed up all night at the hospital for one civilian, I knew there was only one person he would do that for.” Namjoon hears Mark sigh, and he watches as he tilts his head back lazily.

 

Namjoon is silent, trying to ignore how the heart rate monitor shows his BPM is steadily rising.

 

“What do you want from me,” Namjoon says carefully, quietly, glancing down at Mark’s arms, bare, exposed. There are purple and blue bruises painting Mark’s forearms, lines of healed scars dashed across his elbows and fingers. Namjoon doesn’t want to think about how he got them.

 

Mark leans further back, his back bending in some odd, painful arch that Namjoon thinks only gymnasts can produce without breaking something. And then Mark’s eyes are open, looking at him with some intensity that almost -- _almost_ makes Namjoon shiver, because _fuck_ that’s creepy.

 

“I think you know the answer to that question,” Mark chimes, smiling wide.

 

Namjoon doesn’t respond, just tries to keep his breathing even as he keeps his eyes on Mark. Namjoon isn’t a hundred percent sure _why_ Mark’s here (other than the fact he probably just wants to taunt him), but he has a feeling it has something to do with…

 

...with Jackson.

 

Yeah. This _is_ Mr. Bedroom Eyes he’s looking at. Namjoon had already made the connection that Mark is interested in Jackson, he just never thought he was... _that_ interested. As in, so interested he would be such a dick to Namjoon.

 

“Never thought you’d come clean to me about being a fuckboy,” Namjoon says, almost laughing, and -- wait. Uh. Bad idea. Bad idea. Very bad.

 

Mark whips around, digging his fingers deep into the mattress, and his eyes are smoldering with the same fury he’d seen two Friday nights ago.

 

“Let me make myself clear,” Mark begins to lower himself, fingers tightening into the fabric of the blankets, and Namjoon looks him dead on. “You have no business being near Jackson. He is not yours. And he never will be.”

 

Namjoon furrows his brow. “He’s not mine; he’s not a dog. And why do _you_ care? You act like you own him,” he says carefully, blinking.

 

Mark narrows his eyes at Namjoon, before he laughs airily, breaking into a grin. “You think you _know_ Jackson? You been friends with him since elementary, seen him cry, seen him in pain, seen him break bones, bleed? You ever been there when he needed you most?”

 

Namjoon is quiet again. Is that...is that really close Mark is to Jackson? Yeah, Namjoon remembers Jackson telling him about how Mark had helped him in elementary, but are they -- are they _that_ close? He remembers Jinyoung telling Namjoon about Jackson’s old boyfriend, and he wonders if it was Mark who helped him through it all. Maybe...maybe Namjoon is just trying to deny the fact that Jackson’s friends with someone so -- _cruel_.

 

“I thought so,” Mark sighs, when Namjoon doesn’t reply, shaking his bangs to the side. He’s twisting his fingers in the sheets, and Namjoon wonders if he’s contemplating breaking his legs. “You’re right. I don’t own him. And I never want to. But I know what decisions are best for him.”

 

Namjoon scoffs. “Huh. And you’re so sure that his decision is the one _you_ want.”

 

And something in Namjoon cheers, because Mark doesn’t say anything to that. In fact, he’s absolutely still, just staring Namjoon down again, with that furious glint. It’s a small victory, Namjoon thinks.

 

“But then…” Mark hangs his head, but Namjoon can clearly see the vicious smirk on his lips as he stalks closer, nearing his bedside. “...why don’t you take a look at yourself?” he stops at his right, and Namjoon wonders just how easy it would be for Mark to take a knife and stab it into his wounded shoulder.

 

Namjoon swallows, fighting off the urge to inch away. “What do you mean?” he says, and he must say something that sounds like music to Mark’s ears, because now he’s laughing again.

 

Mark bites down on his lower lip, shoulders shaking with laughter, and he leans in way too close for Namjoon’s comfort.

 

“What a horrible thing you are, messing around with two people at once,” Mark whispers, and Namjoon’s blood turns to ice. No...no, no, fuck, oh god --

 

Namjoon’s face must have despair and shock written all over it, because Mark just grins wider.

 

“Uh huh, what do you have to say about that? You can’t just claim two for yourself, thinking no one’s gonna get hurt. How can you say you’re better for Jackson when you’re flirting with another guy? And a _leader_ , no less,” Mark has his hand on the hospital bed, and he tilts his head (Namjoon holds his breath; Mark smells like cherry and soda, too sweet for him to stand).

 

Namjoon’s head is spinning, and he struggles to form words. “How could you know that?” he tries to sound firm, but his voice wavers, and he feels powerless, weak; awful, _terrible_.

 

“People talk,” Mark smirks, and Namjoon wonders what else Mark knows, what he’s seen, and all he can think of is how heartbroken Jackson seemed, how _hurt_ he must be feeling now. Fuck, this is _all Namjoon’s fault_ , he’s a _horrible person_ \--

 

“Hey, so I got you some -- oh, hey, Mark, was wondering why you weren’t outside.” It’s Jin, opening the hospital room door, and Namjoon’s never felt so grateful for an interruption in his life.

 

Namjoon glances over to Mark, sees he’s already standing (he must have moved when he heard the door handle turning). And then Mark is facing Jin, walking toward the door.

 

“Just checking up on him,” Mark hums, and it’s such a _lie_ , Namjoon just wants to punch him so hard he won’t be able to stand.

 

Jin nods, stuffing some chips into his mouth and chewing. “Oh, okay. You need anything to eat?” he mumbles, blinking.

 

“Nah,” Mark shakes his head, and he slides past Jin as he makes his way out. But he stops at the door frame, just to turn and give Namjoon the most disgusting, sadistic grin he’s ever seen. “I’ll be out front,” he says, before he closes the door.

 

And then it’s just Jin (and his food, he bought five different bags of chips, four protein bars, three bags of Skittles and two boxes of candy _holy shit_ ) and Namjoon. Namjoon finally relaxes his fists, and he realizes he’s been digging his nails so hard into his palms the skin looks almost ready to bleed, pink little crescents carved deep into his skin.

 

“So, I got you some Butterfingers, hope that’s okay, and, uh -- ” Jin strides over to his bedside, dropping the box off next to his phone. He reaches down with his clean hand, tapping at his phone, and literally the second it turns on, the alarm starts buzzing. “Hey, perfect timing,” he says, before turning the alarm off and taking his phone away (if only it had rung like, two minutes ago).

 

Namjoon nods, but he doesn’t touch the box of Butterfingers or his tea. He’s not really feeling hungry anymore; not with Mark’s words echoing in his head. _People talk_ , and _What a horrible thing you are,_ and _Messing around with two people_ all spin around in his head, over and over --

 

“Hey, you feeling okay?” Jin is mumbling from the side, popping open a bag of barbecue chips.

 

Namjoon blinks down at his Butterfingers. “...Well, not really,” he admits quietly.

 

He sees Jin swallow. “Oh, is it your shoulder? Do you need me to call a nurse?” he says, and he’s setting his chips onto the hospital chair with the rest of his food.

 

“No, no, it’s not that,” Namjoon says quickly (although his shoulder _does_ feel a little sore, now that he thinks about it). “I just -- suck. As a human being.”

 

Jin leans back against the counter, quirking his mouth to the side. “Well, everyone gets bad luck sometimes. I’m sure that’s why you got shot, not because you’re a terrible person,” he says, reaching into his bag of chips.

 

“I…” Namjoon sighs. “I wish that was my only problem.”

 

At this, Jin seems to realize something’s wrong, and he adjusts his position on the counter. “Mm, I see. What’s wrong, then?” he asks, hands on the edge of the counter.

 

Namjoon eyes Jin warily. He’s already told Hobi and Jinyoung, told Suga and Jackson. And Jin...seems trustworthy. Besides, if Jin _does_ yell at Namjoon, he’ll at least be getting yelled at for a good reason.

 

“I’m an awful person, and you’re probably gonna hate me after this,” Namjoon starts, searching for the right words to say (one wrong thing and Jin might steal his Butterfingers away. And also yell at him and walk out of the room and oh _god_ that would mean _Mark_ could come _back in_ and fucking shit -- ).

 

Jin laughs. “Please; I only get really miffed; I don’t hate people. What’s upsetting you?” he says, smiling.

 

Namjoon swallows, remembering how Jin, Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook had all witnessed his (extremely _embarrassing_ ) confession about Suga. “Well, I. I told Suga I liked him,” he says, and Jin inhales sharply.

 

“Great! When’s the wedding? I’ll bake the cake, buy some champagne -- ” Jin is clapping his hands, grinning, and Namjoon hates to break it to him, but.

 

“But I also like someone else,” Namjoon says meekly, biting down on his tongue.

 

The room is quiet, then, and Namjoon chances a glance up at Jin to see his reaction, and finds that he doesn’t... _look_ too upset. He’s stopped chewing, but at least he doesn’t look furious. 

“Oooh, okay, okay,” Jin says, leaning forward a little. Namjoon doesn’t know if it’s curiosity or suspicion on his face as he speaks. “Continue.”

 

Namjoon swallows again, blinking a couple times before pressing on. “I really like both of them. And I’m -- I’m cheating them out of being happy because...because both of them like me, too,” he says, voice cracking just the slightest bit around the words _like me_. He feels ashamed, ears burning, and he stares down at his lap.

 

Jin still isn’t making any outward expression, just pressing his lips together, like he’s thinking.

 

“Did you tell Suga?” Jin presses.

 

“I told _both_ of them,” Namjoon says hoarsely.

 

“Oohh, I see,” Jin nods, folding his hands over his lap. He hums quietly to himself, then, and he must be trying to think about what he’s going to say.

 

It continues on like that for at least a minute or two, just Jin humming in the silence of the room. Namjoon kind of wants to just ask what he thinks, but he keeps quiet. He stares down his box of Butterfingers, wondering if now would be a good time to eat them --

 

“Okay, so I’m obviously biased here, towards Suga, but you shouldn’t beat yourself up over this,” Jin is suddenly saying, sitting fully upright, and Namjoon blinks to attention. “You’re very honest, and there’s clearly something in you that they both like about you. What did they say after you told them about this?”

 

Namjoon is almost taken aback by the genuine comfort and kindness in Jin’s voice (because Namjoon doesn’t _deserve_ it; _any_ of it). He clears his throat, trying to recollect himself.

 

“Well, uh, neither of them threw a fit and walked out and said they hated me,” Namjoon says (he remembers them at his side before he’d passed out; both of them looking at him like he was stardust and galaxies and everything in between).

 

Jin is looking at him with raised brows, like he's waiting for more. “And...?” he drawls, tucking his chin a little.

 

Namjoon sighs, trying to remember all the details in between. He remembers looking into both of their eyes, and there wasn't any anger, but he knows there _must_ have been some kind of hurt in there.

 

“They...they both told me they weren't angry, but they must have been lying to make me feel better,” Namjoon says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Jackson -- the other guy -- said he’d wait for me to make my decision. And Suga said he wasn't angry, and I think he was...gonna...kiss me…” His face flushes as the memory floods his mind, of Suga leaning so close, _so close_ , barely an inch between their lips.

 

“Oh, Jackson. I met him this morning; he seemed very nice,” Jin is nodding, and -- huh. Maybe Jin _would_ know where Jackson is. And then Jin is chuckling a little. “I had a feeling he had something going on for you. I was talking with him earlier, and he kept looking over at you, with that lovey-dovey look Suga has when _he_ looks at you.”

 

“Oh,” Namjoon blinks. He feels his face warming more. Was Jackson watching him like that the whole time? And -- and _Suga_ looking at him that way?

 

“But anyways, I agree with Jackson. Wait and make your own decision about this; don't take any pressure,” Jin muses warmly, and Namjoon feels a little more at ease when he hears someone say it all like that. “You have a big heart meant for loving lots of people, and apparently, lots of people also love you. It's nothing to be ashamed of,” Jin adds, and. Huh. Namjoon's...never thought of it that way.

 

“Yeah. You're right,” Namjoon breathes, glancing down at his feet. “I just...I just wish I had an answer.”

 

Jin laughs, shaking his head. “Life doesn't cough up answers, sorry,” he says, and as much as Namjoon hates to agree with him…

 

“Yeah, true,” Namjoon sighs. “Thanks. For listening.” He looks up at Jin, grinning.

 

Jin gives him a thumbs up, reaching for a bag of candy with his other hand. “Hey, anytime,” he says, before tearing the bag open. “Now eat your food. And drink your tea, too.”

 

Namjoon laughs a little, grabbing at his thermos and unscrewing the lid. As he drains it to the last drop, he wonders how Jackson and Suga are, if they're okay, before he falls back to sleep.

 

\--

 

Thankfully, Namjoon doesn’t have another eight hour nap.

 

When he does wake up, Jin’s leaned against the counter still, and Namjoon almost does a double take because there are...more snacks? Where did the rest go? How much food has Jin eaten in the two hours Namjoon slept?

 

Namjoon doesn’t ask, just cautiously looks over the array of food Jin has all stacked together. Jin’s on his phone, but Namjoon can’t tell if he’s texting or playing some really fast-paced phone game. He seems focused, though, enough to the point where he doesn’t realize Namjoon’s awake.

 

And then, after a couple of minutes of silence (and also pain, because his shoulder hurts like fucking hell), the door opens, and Namjoon wonders if it’s Jackson, or Suga, or Mark (please no. Please. No), but instead, it’s...that one guy. That Namjoon thinks is named Yugyeom.

 

“Hey, you posted to watch this guy, too?” Yugyeom looks around the room (does he not remember Namjoon’s name? Really?), pausing to look at Jin for an answer.

 

Jin glances up from his phone, frowning for just a second at his phone screen, but he quickly trains a smile and nods. “Yep, my shift’s almost done, though. You leaving, Mark?” he says.

 

And suddenly, Mark pops his head through the door, bringing himself into view (Namjoon wants to flip him off so _fucking badly_ ), and he gives a thumbs up. “Yeah. I’ll see you around,” he says, but he looks right at Namjoon with that stupid ass grin when he speaks. Namjoon just glares as best he can, and the second Mark disappears, he thinks he can hear angels singing.

 

“Okay, well, I’ll be out here. Call if you need something,” Yugyeom says then, but he doesn’t shut the door all the way as he moves back out.

 

Namjoon kind of wants to ask Yugyeom to close the door, because it’s kind of awkward with him just standing there with his Starbucks iced tea, just muttering to himself -- oh. Did he just say... four-eyed fucker?

 

“I can’t believe that _bastard_ ,” he can just barely hear Yugyeom say to himself. He strains as best he can to make out the rest of what he’s saying, because hey, there’s nothing else to do and Namjoon’s tired.

 

“I’ll punch him in his fucking glasses. Telling me to fuck off _again_ , for the _third time_ . I hate him so much. Ugh. Ugh! _Ugh_!” Yugyeom mumbles rather irritatedly, before he takes a long sip from what Namjoon recognizes is iced tea.

 

This continues on for a couple of minutes, Yugyeom making idle insults at the same, nameless person, then pausing to sip from his iced tea. Namjoon isn;t one hundred percent sure who Yugyeom is so ticked over, but from his indirect, barbed description of the guy, Namjoon guesses that he must not like Yugyeom. And Yugyeom just keeps _ripping_ on the guy, like he’s the worst person on the planet.

 

When Yugyeom’s half-way through another comment (“What his problem anyw -- ”), he sees Yugyeom pause and look up from his drink. He must see something scary(?), because he stands upright instantly, lips sealed, and he scooches to the side, and oh, Namjoon recognizes those footsteps --

 

It’s Suga, pushing the door open quietly, and already Namjoon’s heart is beating faster. It’s such a relief to see those mint bangs, those dark, brown eyes (that are looking at _him_ , holy shit) and Namjoon’s smiling before he even realizes it.

 

“Anything happen while I was gone?” Suga says, making his way toward Namjoon, and his eyes flicker from Namjoon’s to Jin’s, and back to Namjoon’s.

 

“Nope; he slept like a rock,” Jin hums, suddenly pocketing his phone and standing upright. “Did the panel go okay?”

 

“Boring. I lived, though. Surprisingly,” Suga doesn’t take his eyes off of Namjoon, then, and as he nears Namjoon’s bedside, Namjoon sits up a little straighter, smiles a little wider.

 

“That’s good. I’m guessing you were able to properly establish the consequences of messing with those dear to you,” Jin is saying (Namjoon flushes when he realizes...he’s, uh, referring to Namjoon. Being dear to Suga).

 

“You’d be right,” Suga blinks down at Namjoon, and woah, wait, he’s starting to smile _too_ , holy shit, Namjoon was _not prepared_ \--

 

“You’re relieved, by the way. Tae’s here,” Suga directs at Jin, and as if on cue, Taehyung is stepping into the room, grinning and waving.

 

“Alright, thanks!” Jin says cheerily, and he's grabbing at the food on the hospital chair. As he passes Taehyung, he hands him a bag of skittles, patting his shoulder. “See you in a bit,” he says, waving at Suga and Namjoon, and then he's gone.

 

Taehyung takes the bag, tucks it under his arm, and he moves over to where Jin had been standing at the counter, taking his phone out and scrolling down some app.

 

Suga redirects his attention to Namjoon, and _wow_ , that’s a nice outfit, it only looks like it's around a couple thousand bucks. And then there's _Suga_ himself, who's looking at Namjoon, and Namjoon almost shudders, because. Hey. You're hot.

 

“Um. Hi,” Namjoon swallows, and yeah, that's his heartbeat monitor. Beeping really fast (but listen: Suga's like, really close right now, and Namjoon’s feeling very breathless).

 

“Hey,” Suga says back, and before Namjoon can fully process how _nice_ Suga's voice sounds when he's talking to him, Suga's _holding his hand_ , his fingers dipping beneath his, and it's gentle and kind of uncertain, but they're _holding hands_ and Namjoon was Not Prepared.

 

“How are you feeling?” Suga murmurs -- _murmurs_ ; what the fuck does Suga think he's doing, trying to kill Namjoon? -- and he's looking at Namjoon with a small smile (again: what the fuck does Suga think he's doing?).

 

“Uh, ‘m fine. My shoulder is kind of dead, but I'm alive and you're here -- uh. Um,” Namjoon stops himself. Shit. _Shit._

 

Suga blinks at Namjoon, before raising his free hand to cough into his knuckles. Namjoon feels his face warming, and the embarrassment only intensifies when he realizes that Suga's _still holding his hand_.

 

It’'s quiet, then, Suga just holding his hand, and Namjoon feeling like he could die. They don't break eye contact, and Namjoon’s heart beat monitor is still rising in pace.  And eventually, it feels like Namjoon’s heart is actually going to burst, and god, Namjoon just --

 

\-- laughs.

 

And Suga’s laughing, too, soft and light and _genuine_ . In the back of Namjoon’s head, he can hear Jin saying _don’t take any pressure_ , but this doesn’t count as pressure. Right? Seeing Suga smile and laugh, so bright and so pretty; that’s not pressure. Nope. Definitely not.

 

Suga suddenly clears his throat, and even though his laughter tapers off, Namjoon can see him smiling beneath his fist, and all Namjoon can think of is how fucking blessed he is.

 

“Aw, that’s so cute,” Taehyung suddenly says from the counter, and Namjoon jolts in surprise. “I think I’m actually dying right now.”

 

Namjoon flushes pink, eyes falling to his lap, and he almost screams when Suga gives his hand a light squeeze.

 

“Can I borrow some of your morphine?” Suga says dryly, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t want to deal with bullshit right now.” And Namjoon can still hear the laughter in his voice, see his eyes dancing with stars and different shades of brown, and just. Wow.

 

“Uh, not sure if that’s legal,” Namjoon says, smiling, and Suga’s moving to take a seat in the chair at his bedside.

 

“It should be illegal for people to be so fucking whiny,” Suga snorts, and Namjoon can feel him moving his fingers along his (he might shudder at that. Just a little bit).

 

“What happened this time?” Namjoon blinks over at Suga. He remembers Suga mentioning a couple different idols over text (texts that Namjoon regretfully was very curt with), but Suga describes what he thinks of them all pretty similarly (shitty, bratty, immature, indecisive, clueless; the list goes on; rarely do any of them receive praise).

 

“E-mail; couple of minutes ago. Asked for a change in lyrics to a bunch of different songs. Complained about it sounding too ‘distasteful,’” Suga says airily, sounding peeved. And Namjoon sympathizes with him; knows what it’s like to be told a topic doesn’t fit, like that one time his teacher’s assistant --

 

“Oh, fuck,” Namjoon says, blinking rapidly. When Suga opens his mouth, probably about to ask what’s wrong, Namjoon clarifies the root of his outburst. “School. What the fuck am I going to do for school?”

 

Suga blinks. “You’re going to make sure you’re one hundred percent healed before you do anything that involves stress or work.”

 

Namjoon frowns, because there are so many things that could go to shit if he missed so much as a week of classes. “My grades -- I can’t slack off, though, I have to -- ” he starts, but Suga cuts him off.

 

“You have to _rest_. They’ll give an exception; I doubt that people go out and get shot very often,” Suga says firmly, and he’s squeezing Namjoon’s hand again (is he blaming himself again? No. Don’t do that. Bad Suga. It’s not his fault).

 

“Well, I -- I have to -- do _something_ ; I’ll be so behind in everything -- ” Namjoon protests, because now he’s remembering that his album thing is due _real soon_ , what the fuck is he gonna do --

 

“I’ll bring you stuff to write with,” Suga says, and oh, that would be nice. Not like Namjoon has anything else to do for a week (except die of pain). And then Suga blinks. “I’ll help you write when I’m free to visit.”

 

And okay, _that_ would be nice. _Really_ nice. Yes. Writing with Suga. It feels like it’s been years since Namjoon’s properly done any writing with him.

 

“That’d be awesome,” Namjoon smiles. But. Wait. Is he going to mess Suga’s schedule up? Is Namjoon ever going to repay Suga? Oh, shit, what about the hospital fees? Or. Or is Suga handling everything. Because fuck.

 

“E-er, thanks,” Namjoon stutters, and he thinks he’s blushing. “I really owe you -- ”

 

“No, you don’t, you never have, and you never will,” Suga stops him, looking directly in his eyes, and Namjoon’s mouth goes dry. Namjoon was not prepared for that. At all.

 

And then Suga tightens his hold on Namjoon’s hand, before he slowly starts lifting it up and off the bed, up to his lips, and he's looking right at Namjoon --

 

Oh.

 

Suga wants to kiss his hand.

 

Namjoon feels himself flushing a million different shades of pink and red, and he feels dizzy, lightheaded as he looks from Suga's lips to his hand. They're so close, and Namjoon can feel Suga's breath against his knuckles. With a shudder, he gives a quick nod, and Suga brings his hand all the way to his lips.

 

Suga's lips are soft; Namjoon recognizes the touch from the weekend before. The press is light at first, but then Suga's kissing with more certainty, kisses firmly, and Namjoon feels dizzy again. It's a little cold (might just be the temperature of the room, though), and Namjoon shivers when Suga opens his eyes to look at him.

 

Namjoon suddenly realizes how different Suga’s kiss is to Jackson’s. Where Jackson was confident, powerful, Suga feels a little more uncertain. He’s slower, too, lingers longer, unlike Jackson, who kissed Namjoon’s hand like he had a million times before, and was prepared to do it a million times over.

 

And then Namjoon wants to punch himself, because he’s -- _he’s doing it again_ \-- he’s being an _asshole._

 

Namjoon is speechless as Suga lowers his hand, and Suga looks like he feels the same, but it's Suga that talks first (which is a good thing; Namjoon would probably blurt out something dumb, like telling Suga he kisses his hand way different than Jackson, but both ways are fucking amazing).

 

“I have work, but I’ll come see you when I can,” Suga is saying (his hand is still on Namjoon’s), “Do you have your phone with you?”

 

“My phone -- ” Namjoon blinks, realizing that he does not, in fact, have his phone. Shit. “Shit, uh, Jinyoung has it. All my stuff was back at work -- ” and it’s then that another thought strikes him.

 

“Fuck, what am I going to do about _work?_ ” Namjoon gives a despaired groan. Is he going to lose a lot of money? Is he gonna have to eat bread and water for two weeks after he gets out of the hospital?

 

Suga sniffs. “I doubt they’ll penalize you for being shot,” he says. “And if they do, I’ll fucking sue them.” And woah, _woah, woah_ , no need for that.

 

“No, no, it’s fine, uh, I’ll be okay. Probably,” Namjoon says hurriedly, and he realizes that he’s squeezing Suga’s hand.

 

Suga’s eyes soften, and there’s a real tender, affectionate look in his eyes that Namjoon thinks he’s seen before (is this what Jin was referring to before? The lovey-dovey way Suga looks at Namjoon?). He squeezes Namjoon’s hand back, and he’s leaning a little closer.

 

“You’re really okay?” Suga is suddenly asking, and he looks so genuinely concerned, eyes sort of glistening as he looks at Namjoon, and Namjoon’s heart pounds harder. “Not just physically,” Suga adds, and although he doesn’t say it, Namjoon knows exactly what he’s talking about.

 

Namjoon swallows, trying to organize all the thoughts flying around in his head. He can’t lie to Suga, and he doesn’t want to, so he decides to just...speak his mind.

 

“I...honestly, I still feel really bad. I’m still feeling like the shittiest person in the world for doing this to you two,” Namjoon says, and his eyes are on their hands, still linked. He looks back up at Suga, and with confidence, says, “But being with you makes me happy. S-so, uh, thank you. For putting up with me.”

 

There’s a sudden flicker of what Namjoon thinks is joy in Suga’s eyes, and Namjoon hears him take a small, sharp inhale. He looks so happy, almost starry-eyed, and Namjoon feels his heart beating faster.

 

“Don’t feel bad,” Suga is telling him, and Namjoon blinks in surprise (why is Suga so _nice?_ ). “You just...want to be happy. And... _I_ want you to be happy.”

 

Namjoon feels like he’s choking, his throat tightening, because he’s really never heard someone outside of his family (which includes Hobi, as an honorary brother), say something like that. And he wants to say _something_ back to Suga, because Suga’s done so much for him, he has to --

 

And then Suga’s phone buzzes.

 

Suga glances down at his pocket, expression flatlined and unamused. He clenches his jaw as he pulls his phone out, and after reading what must have been a text, he sighs begrudgingly and slips his phone away again.

 

“Work,” Suga says tersely. “I have to go,” and then, amazingly, he runs a hand through his hair, looks off to the side, and sighs quietly, “I wish I didn’t have to.”

 

Namjoon actually almost dies at that, because Suga saying he _doesn’t want to leave_ , and also _saying it like that_ (his head is ducked a little, fingers sifting through his hair).

 

“Well, I’m probably not gonna be going anywhere while you’re gone,” Namjoon says light-heartedly, hoping it’ll cheer Suga up at least a little bit.

 

And it pretty much does, because Suga smiles softly at that (Namjoon’s status: dying).

 

“Don’t worry, you should be out of here in around a week or two,” Suga says comfortingly, and he’s smoothing circles over Namjoon’s wrist. His hands feel familiarly rough, a little dry -- Namjoon loves it (he also wonders why they’re so roughed, though. Maybe Suga just washes his hands a lot?).

 

“Sounds good to me,” Namjoon smiles, but then he wonders if he’ll actually be able to do anything with his busted shoulder (it might be his non-dominant side, but it’ll probably still hurt like a fucking bitch).

 

Suga smiles again, and then he’s standing. He gives Namjoon’s hand one last squeeze, less hesitant and more determined than before, and then he says, “I’ll be back soon,” before turning and leaving, smiling one last time over his shoulder.

 

“Bye,” Namjoon says, before the door shuts all the way. The room feels almost empty without Suga, and then there’s --

 

“Suga’s never talked that much in his life, before, I think,” Taehyung is humming, blinking over at the closed door. And then he turns his attention to Namjoon. “He’s so gay for you.”

 

Namjoon ducks his head, coughing in embarrassment. “R-really?” he says weakly, and he barely manages to meet Taehyung’s eyes.

 

Taehyung shrugs, as if it’s just too obvious. “I mean, he sounds pretty gay for you. And he looks it, too. So,” he says, nonchalant.

 

Namjoon screws his eyes shut, and thank god, Taehyung doesn’t make any further commentary. Namjoon still feels a little awkward, because he’s just now realizing Taehyung witnessed _everything_ , and he silently begs to just be able to fall the fuck asleep.

 

Namjoon gets his wish after ten minutes of closing his eyes, thinking about how _nice_ Suga was. His last thoughts dance around the subject of Jackson, wondering when he’ll be back.

 

\--

 

Namjoon wakes up shaking.

 

And sweating, too, but honestly, he’s shaking so hard the bed is actually moving. Also, the sweat is cold, and Namjoon feels like he’s freezing to death.

 

He’s gasping for breath, almost like he’s been suffocated for the past few minutes, and he can’t quite tell _why_ until --

 

“Oh, fuck,” Namjoon says, voice cracking. He shoves the heels of his palms into his face, taking deep breaths. “Fuck, _fuck_ \-- ”

 

The pieces of his dream start slotting themselves back together, one by one, scene by scene, and Namjoon trembles. He was shot again, except it wasn’t in the shoulder -- it must have been his heart, because Namjoon is starting to remember a sharp pain in his chest, spreading out like a break in glass. He remembers standing before the gunman, remembers being so fucking _scared_.

 

Did Namjoon bleed out? He thinks he remembers falling to the ground, only there was no Suga to hold him and no Jackson to tell him he was okay, that he’d be alright.

 

“Namjoon, are you okay?” It’s Hobi talking, Hobi touching his hands to Namjoon’s arm and wrist. Thank _god_ he’s here; Hobi understands when Namjoon’s having nightmares (he had a phase at the end of high school; anxiety over whether or not he was going to get into college).

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Joon, you’re okay. You’re in a hospital and you’re alright, one hundred percent. Nobody’s gonna hurt you and you’re gonna be taken care of just fine,” Hobi coos, and he’s holding Namjoon’s face with both his hands.

 

Namjoon sucks in a shaky breath, holds it for about half a minute trying to calm himself. He tries to push the image of someone pointing a gun at him out of his head, tries to think of Jackson eating chocolate and making a mess, tries to think of Suga’s fingers as they dance over piano keys.

 

It works, actually, and Namjoon lets his hands slide off of his face. He stares into his lap, trying to breathe normally, and then he glances up at Hoseok.

 

“Hobi,” Namjoon croaks, and he’s shaking again.

 

“Oh, Joon, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Hoseok moves to hug Namjoon, and somehow, he doesn’t end up hurting his shoulder. Namjoon feels his eyes getting watery, but he doesn’t cry. Just lets Hoseok hold him close and whisper words of comfort, tell him that he’s okay.

 

When Hobi sits back down, after maybe a couple minutes of holding Namjoon (he always waits until Namjoon’s breathing normal again), he has his hand on Namjoon’s wrist.

 

“Do you want to talk?” Hobi asks softly, squeezing Namjoon’s wrist comfortingly.

 

Namjoon gives a shaky nod. “Uh, yeah, just -- just give me a second,” he says, breathing in deep.

 

Hobi waits patiently, and though Namjoon’s eyes are closed, he knows he's looking at him. When he's managed to stop shaking like a goddamn leaf, he raises his head, swallowing.

 

“I got shot again,” Namjoon says hoarsely, “I got shot, and I think I bled out.”

 

Hoseok's look of concern intensifies, the corners of his mouth pulled in and his eyes glowing with sympathy. It’s familiar, and Namjoon recognizes it as home.

 

“It's okay, Joon, you're here, you're fine. No one's gonna hurt you, everything's fine,” Hoseok says, and Namjoon nods. He's fine; it was just a stupid, _stupid_ nightmare -- no one shot him, and he's got Hobi right here, telling him he's okay. He’s _fine_.

 

“Why am I so shaken up about this? It wasn't bad like this before,” Namjoon says, breathy, hands curling into fists. He wasn't bothered at all by being shot the first couple of naps, aside from the fucking _pain_ , but that's _physical_ \-- this is something _mental_.

 

“It's stress from being shot. It'll go away after a while.” it's Taehyung speaking, from behind Hobi. He has a hand on Hobi’s shoulder, massaging him comfortingly.

 

“A while?” Namjoon echoes quietly. God, is Namjoon going to be permanently traumatized?

 

“No longer than a few weeks, maybe even just a few days. Promise,” Taehyung says with confidence, and oh, _thank god_ , Namjoon thought it was a month long kind of thing.

 

“I guess that's better than for life,” Namjoon laughs weakly. He wonders how Taehyung is so sure, when he realizes...Taehyung must be very experienced with this kind of thing. And...Namjoon really shouldn't be complaining; Taehyung’s probably dealt with this way more often than Namjoon, and probably with things _worse_ , too.

 

“See? You're gonna be fine,” Hobi nods reassuringly, and he rests his other hand on top of Taehyung's, squeezing affectionately.

 

Namjoon stares at their hands, and he's reminded of how Jackson held his hand for the first time, reminded of how Suga had his fingers wrapped around his just hours before. He feels lonely without either of them, like something's missing, and he -- he _misses_ Jackson and Suga. His fingers twitch at the memory of both of their hands.

 

“Are...are Jackson and Suga around?” Namjoon asks, hopeful. He sort of feels guilty asking for both of them; he doesn't deserve their kindness. But he asks anyways, because he's kind of really scared and he _misses_ the both of them.

 

Hoseok purses his lips, and he glances at the floor before looking back at Namjoon. “I don't think Jackson's here. Taetae said it's just been him and someone else outside,” he says, voice a little strained.

 

“Suga has work all night, I think. He’s supposed to have an eleven o’ clock,” Taehyung says informatively, and as if having one be gone was bad enough, having _both_ be absent makes Namjoon’s heart sink to the fucking floor.

 

“Oh. Okay,” Namjoon mumbles, eyes falling and shoulders slumping. He knows he’s failed to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but really -- he’s in pain, and it’s not just his shoulder that’s hurting.

 

“But hey! I can still hold you!” Hoseok says, and he squeezes Namjoon’s hand. He’s still worried, his eyes betray as much, but he’s happy, _hopeful_ , and Namjoon feels comfort in how he smiles so brightly. Namjoon squeezes his hand back, smiling weakly.

 

And Namjoon suddenly remembers -- he hasn’t told Hobi about last night (at least, about the stuff that wasn’t him getting shot). He’s about to speak up, tell him he has something to say, but Hoseok’s already talking.

 

“So has Jinyoung brought you your stuff yet?” Hoseok’s smiling lightly, eyes hopeful.

 

Namjoon glances over at the cardigan, still in the same spot as before, folded up neatly. “No,” he shakes his head. He’s not even really sure if Jinyoung _has_ his stuff with him (might still be left at the Starbucks), but Jinyoung isn’t the type of person to miss that kind of stuff.

 

Hoseok rolls his eyes, sighing. “Ugh, Jinyoung making me do _everything_ ,” he bemoans, and then he snickers, “I’ll make sure he drops by tomorrow. Oh, and also -- ” Hoseok reaches behind him, and Namjoon hears papers being moved around. When Hobi turns to face Namjoon again, he has his literature notebook and a pencil. “ -- brought your homework. Almost forgot it at home.”

 

Namjoon snorts, but he nods and takes both the notebook and the pencil. “Thanks,” he says, before placing them on the bedside table. At least now he’ll have something to actually _do_ besides sleep.

 

“No slacking just because you’ve been hospitalized,” Hobi says, arms folded.

 

“Honestly, it’s better than having nothing to do,” Namjoon says airily. It’d also be kinda nice if he had his phone and earbuds so he could listen to music, but he’ll hopefully have both tomorrow.

 

“You try hards,” Taehyung snorts, smirking a little.

 

Hoseok talks Namjoon through the assignment, but they end up just talking more than actually writing anything (Namjoon does get _some_ stuff written, though; he can say he worked at least a little). They shoot the breeze over random shit, and by the time Hobi’s sliding the cupcakes onto the bedside table, Namjoon’s pretty much put his nightmare out of his mind.

 

Taehyung doesn’t talk much, other than to make a couple comments every now and then. He and Hobi both seem to be really physical, holding hands and Taehyung occasionally leaning all the way down to rest his chin on Hobi’s head or shoulders (although, Namjoon suspects they’re downplaying it because he’s here).

 

“Okay, well I got a showcase in a little bit. Should probably get ready for that,” Hoseok sighs after a much-needed couple of hours just chatting. Namjoon tries to mask his disappointment, but again, fails miserably.

 

“Okay,” Namjoon nods, tightening his grip on his pencil. As Hoseok’s gathering his stuff, he can’t help but ask, “So I’ll see you tomorrow at noon? Or something like that?”

 

Hoseok pauses, and he nods quickly, smiling. “You bet your ass you’ll see me. Who else is gonna get you organic tea and cupcakes?” he snickers.

 

Namjoon laughs, and Hoseok gives his arm one last squeeze. “I’ll see you, Joon,” Hoseok hums, and when he has his bag in his hand he turns around and -- woah, okay; he kisses Taehyung right on the lips.

 

Hobi holds Taehyung’s jaw as they kiss, and Namjoon turns his eyes as quickly as possible, because _really,_ Hobi? _That’s_ the last thing he’s going to leave Namjoon with? Namjoon’s not a _prude_ ( _far_ from it, too), but -- but _really_?

 

And then Hobi leans into Taehyung’s space, and he whispers right up next to his ear, “See you later, baby boy,” before he presses a quick peck to Taehyung’s cheek (whose face reddens rapidly), and practically skips out the door. And Namjoon just stares, because did...did Hobi just call Taehyung... _baby boy_?

 

“Uh...” Namjoon says lamely, a couple of seconds after the door’s closed. He turns his attention to Taehyung, who’s currently tapping his toe against the floor.

 

“Don’t. Ask,” Taehyung pleads quietly, and maybe it’s just...something that Taehyung and Hobi...do? Ugh, no, stop it, _no_ \--

 

“Uh, got it,” Namjoon swallows. Definitely got it. Not gonna ask. Not gonna think about it. Got it. Yep.

 

Namjoon contents himself with doing nothing, then, because he feels like if he reaches for anything, Taehyung is going to die. He keeps tapping his foot against the floor, and Namjoon wonders if it’s because he’s -- no. God, what the fuck is _with_ Namjoon right now?.

 

After a while, Namjoon finally feels another sleep spell starting to bubble up, and with a yawn, he closes his eyes and lets himself fall back into sleep.

 

Before he drops off completely, his mind wanders to Jackson again, wondering where he is, if he’s okay, and then he’s out.

 

\--

 

Countdowns suck.

 

Well, at least when it’s for something Jackson doesn’t want. Like, some inevitable things? He’s totally fine with. But when it comes to shit like _this?_ It’s hard to not want to eat three tubs of ice cream and hang out at the gym for four hours, and then stress write two new songs. And then do it all over again.

 

But somehow, Jackson’s able to distance himself from anything sugary, and it’s not like he actually has four free hours on his hands, so he’s stuck with just the stress writing. He’s got about four and three quarters of a piece all drafted, and he’s been downing water glass after water glass. And it’s nice, to write so much in like, just two hours, but Jackson wishes he didn’t have to watch the clock like a fucking hawk.

 

Jackson glances up at the wall, wincing when he sees it’s already eight thirty-eight. He’s got about two minutes until he departs for hell, and then twenty minutes until he’s condemned to eternal damnation. What a way to start his morning.

 

With great reluctance, Jackson rises from his desk and stretches. He snags his jacket off of his chair, runs his hand through his bangs once before he mutters, “Fuck it,” and is out his front door.

 

And it’s suddenly like everything’s taunting -- the second Jackson steps out of his flat and into the golden light of the morning, the entire fucking world is just laughing in his fucking face.

 

Jackson drops his keys _twice_ before he’s able to lock his door, his bike is parked _way_ down the block (just how tired _was_ Jackson last night?), and as he’s driving down to his little ‘meet,’ he spots about twenty two different couples making out or holding hands or holding each other. And yes, usually, seeing lots of PDAs and all that fun jazz makes Jackson’s heart sing (because affection, affection, _affection!_ ), but tonight? Haha -- not tonight.

 

And of course, _of fucking course_ , when Jackson pulls up at whatever fancy, expensive, brunch restaurant Youngjae called him to, every single table is occupied with _couples_. Couples, that are, while all shades of adorable and absolutely heart warming, reaching over the table to hold hands, giving each other pretty-eyed looks, and everything that Jackson...wants (Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon).

 

Thankfully(?), Jackson doesn’t have to wait long at all in the lobby, just mentions Youngjae’s name to the attendee and is quickly escorted across the restaurant. Youngjae’s already seated at their table for two, just some pound cake and tea already prepared. As Youngjae’s bringing the cup of tea to his lips, he makes eye contact with Jackson, and Jackson makes as much of a relaxed grin as he can.

 

Jackson thanks the attendee as he leaves, slowly pulling his chair out and taking a seat. When he moves back up to the table, he hears Youngjae settling his cup back onto his saucer, and he flinches at the sound.

 

“Hey, Youngjae. How’s your weekend going?” Jackson greets, resting his forearms against the edge of the table (he may appear sort of calm, but on the inside, Jackson is actually trying not to jump and beeline it for the door).

 

“Hey, Jacks. It’s been great; I had dinner with Jaebum last night; came back to my flat afterward,” Youngjae says jovially, smiling just the same as he always does. Jackson may be an optimist, but honestly, he envies Youngjae’s ability to stay calm yet enthusiastic ninety eight percent of the time. Youngjae folds his hands on the table. “How’s yours?”

 

 _Wild_ , Jackson wants to say, _I’ve done nothing but think and write and think and write and think and write, all about_ Namjoon.

 

“It’s been...weird,” Jackson says, biting down on his lip; he won’t lie to Youngjae (mostly because what’s the point? Youngjae probably already has him all figured out).

 

Youngjae nods, and from the way he hums acknowledgingly, politely, Jackson gets a pretty good idea how this conversation is gonna go. Fuck. At least Youngjae’s not hissy or outwardly raging (not that he ever really is; he’s mostly just...loud).

 

“I know what you mean,” is Youngjae’s cool response, and Jackson stiffens. At least they’re going to get straight to the point now (not like that’s something Jackson really enjoys doing that much, though).

 

“Yep.” Jackson smacks his lips. He eyes the poundcake warily; is that...actually a lemon pound cake? Jackson can’t really discern how yellow it is with the lighting.

 

It’s quiet for only a couple of seconds, mostly because Youngjae’s taking another sip of his tea and Jackson’s all shut up because he’s trying to pick out what to say ( _yeah_ he’d thought of what he was going to say, but it’s still -- _difficult_ ).

 

“So I’m sure you already know why I’ve called you here,” Youngjae says after he places his teacup back down.

 

Jackson feels his throat get tight. God, how _stupid_ was Jackson yesterday? _Begging_ Youngjae to let him stay with Namjoon? And Jackson had thought his self-restraint was bad already.

 

“Uh huh,” Jackson nods slowly. This has to be about Namjoon.

 

Youngjae idly stirs his tea, spooning in some honey. Jackson can’t help but shift as he waits for him to speak.

 

“Are you ready to talk about it?” Youngjae asks calmly, sliding his spoon onto his napkin.

 

Jackson can’t say no. “Yep,” he nods, and it’s not... _really_ a lie. Like, he _has_ been thinking about what he was gonna say all morning, but it’s not as if Jackson really _wants_ to talk about this, because he’s pretty sure he knows what Youngjae has to tell him.

 

“Go on, then,” Youngjae leans back in his chair, moving his hands to his lap. “I’m all ears,” he hums, smiling. It’s not disarming, but welcoming; he’s genuinely willing to listen.

 

Jackson inhales through his nose, eyes closed. All he has to do is convince Youngjae everything’s...peachy. That this won’t be a problem (because Namjoon is _not_ a problem; he’s the furthest thing from the concept of _bad_ ), and that he shouldn’t worry.

 

Easy enough.

 

“So...that guy in the hospital,” Jackson starts off hesitantly. He sees Youngjae nod, and with a swallow he continues. “His name’s Namjoon. And he’s -- ” _breath taking, inspiring, gorgeous, perfect, dimpled,_ tall -- “ -- a barista. At Starbucks.”

 

There’s a flicker of curiosity in Youngjae’s eyes, and Jackson remembers that Youngjae doesn’t know _exactly_ who Namjoon is. He doesn’t know Namjoon is the same person that Jackson had ‘mistakenly’ been late to three meetings for. He doesn’t know that Namjoon is the same person that Jackson is willing to drop everything and run for.

 

“You, ah, know him. Not really, but I’ve...mentioned him to you before. Sort of,” Jackson scratches at his neck.

 

“You have?” Youngjae quirks a brow, interest hooked.

 

“Yep. He’s, ah -- the guy. From before,” Jackson explains very vaguely, but it’s getting a little difficult to skirt around the descriptors _the guy I like a lot, the guy who likes me a lot, the guy that likes someone_ else _a lot, too, the guy I want to make smile and kiss and hold hands with._

 

Youngjae frowns, like he’s trying to put Jackson’s terrible description to a face, and at least he doesn’t roll his eyes at Jackson’s severe lack of details (bless him; Youngjae’s always so nice).

 

“I mean -- the guy from before that I...uh, may have hung out with. And may have nearly missed three meetings for,” Jackson amends, and, er, maybe he shouldn’t have specifically stated that he missed out the meetings _for_ Namjoon; Youngjae probably won’t like the sound of that.

 

“Oh. I see,” Youngjae reaches out for his tea cup, but all he does is stir. “Keep going,” he hums, blinking.

 

Jackson pauses, because...Youngjae didn’t give an outright reaction. And, typically, that’s not...the _best_ sign that things are going okay for Jackson. But he presses on.

 

“And...I…”Jackson licks his lips; how can he say this convincingly? Overstaying his shift because he really likes Namjoon might be something Youngjae finds cute, but Jackson _argued_ with him. And also overstayed his shift. Youngjae probably wants a ‘valid’ excuse as to why both things happened (and, in Jackson’s opinion, Namjoon is the _perfect_ reason to do both, but Youngjae’s not one of the people head over heels for Namjoon).

 

“You…?” Youngjae gives a small smile, and at least he’s being patient.

 

“I like him,” Jackson says firmly. _And I’d do anything to make him laugh, make him smile, make him happy -- god, I’d do_ anything _for him_ , he almost says.

 

Youngjae blinks at him, and to Jackson’s horror his smile _fades_. And he doesn’t say anything, either; just stirs his tea with his silver spoon, slow, silent, staring into the reddish liquid, as if he’s trying to read tea leaves.

 

And then, with a clink as the spoon rests against the side of the tea cup, he sighs, looking up at Jackson.

 

“So that’s why you stayed the extra two hours on shift,” Youngjae hums, and Jackson tenses.

 

“Yup,” Jackson says in a parrot like manner. Maybe it’s enough to convince Youngjae that Jackson didn’t follow routine for a reason, maybe Youngjae won’t put him on probation --

 

Youngjae laughs. He ducks his chin, and Jackson can see his fingers tightening around the handle of his tea cup, and he thinks he can hear a hint of sadness in Youngjae’s tone, but he can’t really fathom _why_.

 

Youngjae lifts his head, sighing. “As much as I love hearing that you’ve found someone special to you again,” he says, a little breathy. “We have some problems with you and...Namjoon.”

 

Jackson stiffens. That wasn’t what he expected Youngjae to say. He had imagined him saying something more along the lines of, _It doesn’t matter, you need to watch your mouth_ , (but of course, in a more Youngjae-ish way).

 

“Like what,” Jackson says hoarsely, and he’s almost afraid to know why. Because Jackson _doesn’t_ know why Youngjae thinks there’s something wrong with him and Namjoon, and he’s -- he’s _afraid_ that he’s somehow found an-all-too viable reason to keep them apart.

 

Youngjae exhales airily, frowning before he speaks. “That man? He’s considered Suga’s property.”

 

Jackson thinks his heart stops.

 

“Namjoon is _no one’s_ property; he is a _human being_ ,” Jackson finds himself saying, and he doesn’t know how loud he is, but he could care less. Referring to Namjoon as if he was an inanimate, lifeless object that Suga just _owned --_ disgusting, in Jackson’s eyes.

 

“You know what I mean,” Youngjae says firmly, and his eyes are sharp. Jackson gets it; Youngjae isn’t the one that actually thinks partners or spouses or _whoever_ are pieces of _property_ ; it’s the _others_ that think they just -- _own_ people. But the insinuation doesn’t make Jackson feel any less infuriated.

 

Youngjae relaxes back into his seat, looking off to the side, as if he’s thinking. And then Jackson realizes -- how is it that Youngjae knows about Suga’s...connection to Namjoon? Fuck; this isn’t good.

 

Jackson wonders if...if it was Suga himself that told Youngjae about Namjoon.

 

When Youngjae doesn’t say anything, Jackson can’t hold himself back. “If Suga told you he owned Namjoon, I’m going to tell him myself to fuck off, because Namjoon can think for himself, he’s not just some -- ”

 

“ _Enough_ , Jackson,” Youngjae grits out, fist clenched, and Jackson stops mid sentence. Fuck, _fuck_ \-- no, Youngjae can’t possibly side with _Suga_ and not Jackson --

 

“Suga never said he _owned_ Namjoon, but according to the rules, he has rights to him, Jackson. And you _know_ what I mean,” Youngjae says, voice evening out. His eyes are still gleaming with irritation (hey; Jackson needed to get it out there that Namjoon is a _person_ , not a toy), and he moves an elbow to one of his arm rests.

 

Youngjae sighs, his smile light, strained. “You know, it was _Suga_ that called Namjoon in. He asked for private care for him, and was willing to cough up favor money if it meant getting him fixed up,” Youngjae’s tone is exasperated, tired, and, oh -- Jackson was right. It _was_ Suga that called Namjoon in. “He even stayed up all night for him, at his side in the hospital room. With you; just like you.”

 

Jackson bites his tongue; he and Suga are _nothing_ alike. If anything, they have to be the exact opposite (discounting the fact that they both like Namjoon). “We’re -- ” he starts, but immediately is cut off.

 

“ _Look_ , Jackson,” Youngjae sighs. “I saw Suga at the meeting yesterday, and he was fucking _furious_ over the fact that a kid nearly _killed_ Namjoon. He made it clear he didn’t want anything like this happening again,” he says sternly, and although he isn’t scowling, Jackson gets that he’s not happy. But really, all that Jackson can think about is where this is going, because this all took a turn into the danger zone way too quickly, and he’s worried Youngjae’s gonna say --

 

“Suga explicitly stated everyone had to keep a tight grip on their members. I’m sorry, Jackson, I am, but you can’t keep up whatever you have with Namjoon,” Youngjae says, and Jackson feels like the entire world is being pulled out beneath his feet, the breath being socked right out of his lungs.

 

Jackson can’t respond properly, can only stare at Youngjae in disbelief, because. He’s telling Jackson. No more Namjoon. Because of _Suga._

 

A part of Jackson hurts at that, because why would Youngjae side with _him_ ; this isn’t _fair_ and it's _cruel_ , and Jackson can feel his eyes stinging --

 

“Wait,” Jackson protests pathetically, and he fights to find any reason, _any at all_ to salvage Youngjae’s thoughts on his and Namjoon’s relationship. “Wait, this doesn’t -- doesn’t apply to _that_ \-- ”

 

But Jackson can’t find the right words, is struggling to even _breathe_ , and Youngjae just continues on. “Suga said, and I _quote_ : ‘A fuck up is a fuck up.’ What you’re doing with Namjoon? That’s a fuck up. And Suga’s going to be asking for blood if someone so much as fucking _disturbs_ Namjoon,” he says, voice low, and then he sighs again. “I’m not going to let you get yourself hurt,” he says, eyes softening.

 

All Jackson can think about is never being able to see Namjoon smile, hear him _laugh_ , and it all feels like a stab to his stomach, a sharp, physical pain that Jackson can actually _feel_ (and it feels like Youngjae’s telling him what he has with Namjoon is _wrong_ , a _mistake_ , that it’s _meaningless_ , and Jackson feels his heart breaking at that thought). This is fucked up, so _fucked up_ , and Jackson feels so fucking _powerless_ \--

 

No. No; Jackson’s not powerless. Youngjae doesn’t know what he’s talking about -- Suga _knows_ that Namjoon likes Jackson; that Namjoon likes the _both_ of them. It’s not a fuck up, it’s not --

 

“It’s not a fuck up, _we’re_ not a fuck up. You -- you have the wrong idea -- Joonie told me _and_ Suga he was interested in _both_ of us, so technically, it’s not -- ” Jackson starts out confidently, heart pounding, but Youngjae stops him cold again.

 

“We’re done, Jackson,” Youngjae says commandingly, and Jackson feels helpless, because fuck, _no_ \-- “You’re on probation.”

 

Jackson splutters, but there are no words that come out. Nothing. Just air and spit and _despair_ , because _why_ ; this is _awful_ and Jackson feels like his throat is being crushed.

 

“N-no, please, you’ve got it all wrong, just _listen to me_ \-- ” Jackson says, strained, leaning forward in his chair, and fuck, he’ll get on his _knees_ at this point, because he’s going to stop at _nothing_ to keep Namjoon in his life.

 

“Jackson,” Youngjae sighs, touching his fingertips to his forehead, but he doesn’t tell Jackson _no_ , so he keeps going.

 

“Just...just look: Namjoon said he’s -- he’s thinking about what he wants. Nothing’s set in stone, I even told him I’d give him some space to -- to think it all through, and he and Suga I think are doing the same thing. We discussed this, all three of us, the other night. There’s nothing wrong with us -- ” Jackson babbles, and his steadiness is just starting to build back up when Youngjae interrupts him yet again.

 

“No. I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say it, but _no_ ,” Youngjae shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut, and Jackson is just so _lost_ , _why is this happening_ \-- “Mark and I already discussed this, and we’ve decided it’s best for you to not see Namjoon anymore.”

 

And...wh...what? Mark...said it was best for Jackson to stop seeing Namjoon?

 

If Jackson were standing, he’d probably double over, because that...that _hurts_ . Mark not telling Jackson about this, Mark agreeing Jackson should be on probation, Mark (in a way) being _against_ Jackson -- it _hurts_.

 

“Jackson, you know I love you, but this isn’t just you -- it’s about the whole gang. You _know_ how much scrutiny inter-gang relationships get, especially with us. I thought you’d understand that the most,” Youngjae says, when Jackson doesn’t bring himself to say anything.

 

“I...I see,” Jackson says (he really doesn’t, though), voice practically a whisper, but Youngjae seems to hear him all the same.

 

It’s quiet between them, for maybe a couple of agonizing minutes, as Jackson tries to process everything. They’re surrounded by the smell of pastries and hot tea and coffee, but all Jackson can think of is _Namjoon_ and all he can feel is _hurt_.

 

“I’m...I’m sorry, Jackson. I know how much... _relationships_ mean to you,” Youngjae’s tone is sympathetic, as if he’s pitying Jackson, and it’s too much, too much --

 

“I’m fine,” Jackson gets out, somehow, and his nails are digging into his palms. “I’m fine.” he closes his eyes slowly (he is _not_ fine; he is in fucking _pain_ and he doesn’t know what to _do_ ).

 

Another pause. And then Youngjae’s saying, “If you’d like, you can go home.”

 

“Yeah,” Jackson’s standing abruptly, and his skin is numb. “Yeah. I’ll go.”

 

Jackson can barely see Youngjae’s expression, but he’s pretty sure it’s something colored with more pity. “I’m sorry, Jackson,” he says again, and Jackson _can’t_ \--

 

“I’m fine,” Jackson repeats, and his voice sounds _weird_ , all strangled and warped, and he turns and makes a path toward the exit before he can see or hear anymore.

 

“I’m fine,” Jackson tells himself the whole way to his bike, eyes blurred with what he finally identifies as tears. It’s what he tells himself the entire ride to the beach, tells himself as he parks his bike up by the sidewalk, tells himself as he sprints through the sand, tells himself when he kicks his stupid fucking timberlands and his jacket off when he reaches the water.

 

And Jackson screams.

 

Screams out _why_ and _no_ , and _fuck, fuck, fuck,_ fuck, over and over, screams out ugly profanities and all his frustrations and confusion in little blooms of ire, screams out agonized, pained, _despaired_ nonsense that he doesn’t understand at all, even as the sounds roll over the ocean waves.

 

And then he falls to his knees, because _fuck standing_ , doesn’t even care that there’s water swirling over his calves and knees, sand swallowing his ankles, and then he realizes --

 

\-- he’s crying.

 

Hot tears that burn his skin, cascade down his cheeks and drip off of his chin. It feels familiar, and then it hits him that it’s because --

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jackson sobs, and he doesn’t even bother to wipe at his tears. He just sits in the sand and pulls his knees close to his chest, lets the waves roll right up past him, over and over, and he just cries. Gasps, chokes, shudders, pants, sniffs -- _cries._

 

It all sort of...reminds Jackson of three years ago.

 

His fingers, shaking and numb, reach for his phone, taps and swipes on automatic. He calls the one person he can still trust -- has _always_ trusted.

 

As the other end of the line rings, Jackson remembers how Jinyoung’s always been the person to listen to him. Even after the... _fiasco_ , with Mark, he’s always been there for him, always gone the extra mile to make Jackson happy. Three years ago, he’d helped him through the worst time of his life. And with Namjoon, he’s offered his continuous support and advice. He’s the only one Jackson can turn to now.

 

He hears the line pick up, and before Jinyoung can even say hello, he starts up.

 

“I need to see you,” he chokes out, and the tears don’t stop.

 

\--

 

Typically, Sundays are nice, because it’s the end of the weekend, and that means Namjoon gets to get back into routine.

 

Except, this Sunday, Namjoon is in a hospital, healing from a gunshot wound, and thus, is probably not going to get back into any routine. At least the literature Namjoon’s working on (read: struggling to do because his fucking shoulder is _dying_ ) helps him relax a little.

 

He’s in the middle of trying to refill his pencil with lead, when there’s a soft knock at the door. Namjoon looks up, fumbling with the eraser of his pencil, and he finds himself smiling when he sees it’s Jinyoung that’s walking through the door (god, it feels like it’s been _forever_ since he’s seen him).

 

“Oh, hey,” Namjoon says warmly, setting his pencil and notebook onto his bedside table. “I was thinking about you just now. Y’know, literature stuff.”

 

Jinyoung smiles, but he seems...tired? His expression is soft, and his eyes look a little red. He must have stayed up all night studying (it wouldn’t be a first).

 

“Good to know you’re keeping up with homework,” Jinyoung says, closing the door quietly. He strides across the room and takes a seat next to Namjoon (yeah, his eyes definitely seem red).

 

“Uh, yeah, I’m. Working on that. Oh, do you, by any chance, have my phone?” Namjoon says, smiling, and he peers down at Jinyoung’s bag.

 

Jinyoung blinks, but he nods and reaches into his bag. After a second, he pulls out Namjoon’s phone and hands it to him (it still has the same Ryan the Lion phone case; Namjoon feels some comfort in seeing its happy smile).

 

“Sorry about that, I should have visited sooner,” Jinyoung says, apologetic as Namjoon takes his phone, and Namjoon frowns. Jinyoung seems awfully...tired.

 

“No, don’t worry about it. Not like I could really call you to let you know where I was,” Namjoon says reassuringly, tapping at his phone. It’s nice to see that Jinyoung kept his phone charged; it’s at one hundred percent. And then he realizes -- oh, now he can text Jackson and Suga.

 

Namjoon feels giddy, eager as he thumbs at Jackson’s contact name, and he starts up a nice greeting to Jackson -- maybe he should just say hi? Or ask how he is?.

 

“So, have you heard from Jackson? I’ve been sort of confined to bed, so I haven’t heard anything from him, haha,” Namjoon says, smiling up at Jinyoung as he deletes a couple of words. He really can’t wait to hear from the sunbright biker, all clad in black and wearing a grin.

 

Jinyoung’s expression suddenly...falls. Which is odd, because Namjoon actually expected that Jinyoung would _want_ to talk about Jackson first thing. Namjoon frowns; something’s...obviously not okay.

 

“You, um, okay, Jinyoung?” Namjoon says softly, lowering his phone. Jinyoung looks shaken, staring down at...Namjoon’s phone (is he reading the message Namjoon typed out?).

 

Jinyoung bites on his lip, and it almost seems like he’s...going to cry? No, no, Jinyoung just ducks his head a little, thumbs at his black rim glasses.

 

“Um. Yeah, I’m okay, I -- I have something to tell you. About Jackson,” Jinyoung says quietly, and Namjoon feels his fingers stiffen. Because is...is Jackson hurt? Is he here? What’s got Jinyoung so worried?

 

“Is Jackson okay? He’s not hurt, is he?” Namjoon asks quickly. Jackson hurt in any way or form -- that. That sounds _wrong_ to Namjoon; someone who smiles so brightly, is so bright on their own, should never have to suffer, and Namjoon’s already made him hurt enough.

 

Jinyoung breathes in deep, licks at his lips. “He’s...he’s not hurt. But I think he...would have...preferred that,” he says, eyes flickering up to meet Namjoon’s, and --

 

“What? What are you saying, Jinyoung, what’s wrong?” Namjoon’s voice is surprisingly even, but Namjoon can feel himself wavering. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions any further, but Jinyoung almost makes it seem like something drastic’s happened.

 

Jinyoung swallows, then says, “He was put on probation. He isn’t allowed to see you anymore.”

 

And Namjoon holds his breath, has to take a second to recollect himself. Jackson. Can’t see him anymore. Meaning, no more stupid dad jokes, no more deep conversations, no more hyena laughter, no more hearing Jackson casually call him babe. Permanently?

 

“What does that mean? For how long?” Namjoon finds the question leaving his lips the instant the thought crosses his mind. His heart is pounding again, except, this time, it’s because he _won’t_ be seeing Jackson, instead of being nervous _about_ seeing him.

 

Jinyoung sighs,.“I don’t know; he -- he wasn’t specific.”

 

Namjoon feels his heart fall at that, because now there’s the possibility that he’ll...never see Jackson again? Ever? It almost feels like a piece of him is being ripped apart.

 

And maybe...this is Namjoon’s fault.

 

Maybe he did something to cause Jackson’s probation, made someone upset. But how? Namjoon hasn’t seen or spoken to anyone aside from Suga, Jackson, Hobi, Jin, Taehyung, Yugyeom, and Mark, and he’s been stuck in bed for almost forty-eight hours now. Did Namjoon make Jackson late for something important? Or was it Mark that said something? God, maybe Namjoon should’ve just kept his mouth shut; he’s such a fucking _idiot_.

 

But either way, this all amounts to the fact that Jackson isn’t going to be around. And Namjoon feels fucking _torn_.

 

“Oh,” Namjoon finally says, eyes falling to his phone. The last text Jackson had sent him was a bunch of heart emojis and the message _anytime u need to talk to me about anything im right here for u!!_ , followed by more heart emojis. The irony is painful, but Namjoon can’t bring himself to turn his phone off or exit out.

 

Namjoon blinks down at his own message, a half-written _hey i got my phone wanted to know how you were doing_ , and he wonders if he texts Jackson, right now, he’ll still get the same, lightning fast reply and a string of heart emojis.

 

“But Jackson swore he’d find a way back to you,” Jinyoung has a hand on Namjoon’s elbow, and Namjoon looks back up in an instant. Jinyoung’s eyes are desperate, and he’s pursing his lips.

 

“He did?” Namjoon says, breathless, and it’s like he can breathe again. It feels a little surreal, that Jackson would go out of his way to see Namjoon, even if it meant flipping off his leader or whoever, but then it doesn’t, because that’s so...Jackson. But Namjoon isn’t going to deny the prospect of him being defiant for Namjoon is kind of -- _terrifying_ (because what if Jackson gets _punished_?).

 

“Yeah. Just trust him on this. Trust him,” Jinyoung nods, and it’s almost like he’s begging.

 

“Of course I do. Always,” Namjoon smiles, and though Jinyoung seems to be relieved at the sound of his words, smiling back, there’s something still very visibly bothering him (maybe he saw Jackson upset, and it tore him up? Jinyoung and Jackson must be really good friends).

 

“Thank you,” Jinyoung sighs, relief flowing outward in waves, but something still feels -- _sad_ , about him, and Namjoon wishes he knew what exactly it is that’s eating at Jinyoung.

 

“Oh! So, I, uh, confessed! Aren’t you proud?” Namjoon muses with a smile (maybe if he switches up the conversation, Jinyoung will cheer up).

 

Jinyoung does seem to like the sound of that, and he shifts in his seat until he’s fully facing Namjoon.

 

“Very,” Jinyoung laughs, and Namjoon silently cheers, because _hell yeah_ , he (hopefully) made Jinyoung feel better.

 

“He’s so honest,” Jin suddenly pipes up from where he’s leaned against the counter (is he really eating a bag of Snickers? And are those three more on the chair next to him?).

 

Jinyoung jumps in his chair, and obviously, he must not have seen Jin when he’d walked through the door.

 

“Fuck, did he hear everything?” Jinyoung is swallowing, and he’s looking at Namjoon with a sort of panicky expression.

 

“It’s all good; he already knows. I talked to him about it yesterday, and he’s definitely trustworthy,” Namjoon shakes his head, and Jinyoung sighs loudly in relief. And then Namjoon realizes that Jinyoung must not know Jin. “Oh, uh, this is Jin. Jin, this is mom -- I mean -- fuck. Jinyoung.” _Really_ , Namjoon? How the hell did he let _that_ slip? He’s done it in the past before, but that was at _three in the morning_ at a _final’s study session_.

 

“It's fine, 'mom’ _is_ pretty much me,” Jinyoung sighs, and at least he seems more exasperated than aggravated.

 

“Oh, same. My full name's Seokjin, but my friends call me Momjin, because apparently, I'm the only one with sense,” Jin grins, and wait, what?

 

“Really? No way; you're stuck raising idiot, too,” Jinyoung arches his eyebrows, and Namjoon can't tell if he's actually being serious or not (and if he is, then he’d better not be referring to Namjoon when he says idiots).

 

Jin actually nods, and now Namjoon can't tell if _he's_ being serious.

 

“How often do you save your idiots’ asses?” Jin asks, sounding genuinely curious.

 

“With this one, way too often,” Jinyoung gestures to Namjoon, and hey, _hey_ \-- r _ude_.

 

“Well, I think he's been taken care of. I made sure he's been eating and getting lots of sleep,” Jin says, tapping his fingers against the edge of the counter.

 

“Good to hear. Are you eating organic?” Jinyoung directs his attention back to Namjoon (thank god, Namjoon was starting to doubt he existed). Except, Namjoon doesn't even get to answer.

 

“With the exception of one chocolate bar, yeah, he has,” Jin chirps, straightening his shoulders. Jin must be referring to the strawberries and toast he brought him when he switched in for his shift, and the soup he's having right now.

 

“Thanks; good to know there's someone that's trustworthy in this world,” Jinyoung says with an appreciative nod, and Namjoon just. Is done.

 

“Good to know you've become best friends,” Namjoon says dryly, glaring at Jinyoung's profile, and he makes sure to roll his eyes as obviously as possible when Jinyoung looks over at him (because _hello_ , Namjoon didn’t just _disappear_ ). Jinyoung just shrugs.

 

“I'm all ears to whatever you have to say,” Jinyoung grins smugly. Namjoon is tempted to push him off of his chair.

 

“I was gonna ask if you were doing okay at work,” Namjoon says, sitting up a little more in his bed. He wonders how many people saw Namjoon get shot besides Jinyoung, since the place was pretty much empty when Suga pulled up.

 

Jinyoung actually scowls at that, cringing like Namjoon’s held a spider up to his face. “ _Ugh_ ,” he grumbles, squeezing the frame of his glasses.

 

“What, are Saturday shifts really _that_ bad? I mean, I don't even work Saturdays, but if you were that worried about me, you don't have to hide it,” Namjoon laughs jokingly, and Jinyoung glares harder.

 

“Don't give yourself _that_ much credit; I knew you weren't dead,” Jinyoung snorts, and then, disdainfully, goes on to say, “No. It's this dick who keeps coming in and asking for tall black iced teas. He's such a fucking bastard; thinks he can just talk shit without getting hit.” He's rolling his eyes, and hold on --

 

Tall black iced tea? Fucking bastard? Starbucks? It almost sounds like --

 

“Is this ‘fucking bastard,’ by any chance, Yugyeom?” Namjoon asks slowly. He remembers that time Yugyeom came to Starbucks with Mark, remembers that Jinyoung took their order, but he doesn't remember Yugyeom or Jinyoung saying anything to each other. Maybe Yugyeom’s been visiting Jinyoung lately?

 

“ _Don’t_ even mention his fucking name; I swear to _god_ ,” Jinyoung suddenly snaps, and behind his glasses, Namjoon thinks he sees a fire in his eyes (god, what the fuck did Yugyeom _do_ to piss Jinyoung off this much?).

 

“Woah, fuck, okay, okay. Uh, what’s he done to piss you off?” Namjoon laughs nervously, but he’s actually starting to fear for his life because _god_ does Jinyoung look murderous.

 

“He’s a fucking dick,” Jinyoung clips curtly, and he’s cringing again. And then Namjoon hears him grumble under his breath, “Tomato haired, tall ass bitch,” and if Namjoon had doubted it was Yugyeom before, he doesn’t doubt anything now (because Yugyeom really _does_ have bright red hair).

 

“And…?” Namjoon drawls, because _He’s a fucking dick_ isn’t really the most detailed explanation on how someone pisses you off.

 

Jinyoung narrows his eyes at Namjoon, as if he’s just been insulted. “There is no ‘ _and_.’ He’s an asshole; a total fucking bastard,” he says confidently, and now Namjoon’s starting to get suspicious.

 

“Has he _actually_ done anything to you?” Namjoon can’t help but ask. And he might be risking his life, but really, something seems a little... _off_ here.

 

Jinyoung sighs, pushing at the frame of his glasses again. “He thinks he’s so fucking _hot_ , just because he’s _tall_ and in a fucking _gang_ . _Tch_ , I’ve got news for him -- ”

 

“You think he’s hot?” Namjoon frowns, trying to connect all the shit talk to... _this_.

 

Jinyoung physically recoils from Namjoon, wearing an absolutely _disgusted_ expression. “Wh -- _no_ , what the fuck are you talking about? I would _never_ \-- ” he splutters, offended and shocked, like Namjoon’s just asked the dumbest question ever to have been asked.

 

Namjoon puts his hands up defensively, and if he could shrug, he would (but his shoulder says no, so no).

 

Jinyoung seems to ease up just the slightest, glaring off into one of the corners of the room instead of at Namjoon. “I meant he thinks he’s some hotshot. He’s a fucking dick,” is his clarification, but even then, Namjoon’s still confused, because...what exactly has Yugyeom done to annoy Jinyoung?

 

“I understand he’s a dick, I heard you the first couple thousand times. But seriously, what’s he done to you?” Namjoon says calmly (and if Jinyoung says Yugyeom’s a fucking dick _one more time_ , then Namjoon swears he’s going to smack Jinyoung’s glasses right off of his face).

 

Jinyoung is silent, then, continuing to stare off at that same side of the room with extreme interest. When a good few seconds pass of just Jinyoung burning holes into the wall, Namjoon starts to move his good arm to wave at Jinyoung (did he just fall asleep, or something?), but Jinyoung finally says something before Namjoon can ask again.

 

“...He called me Junior,” Jinyoung says quietly, and oh, for _fuck’s sake_ \--

 

“Jinyoung, that’s _not_ a valid reason to hate someone.” Namjoon tells it to him straight. Usually, it’s Jinyoung that has the most sense amongst him and his friends, but as of right now, that’s not the case.

 

“Of _course_ it’s a valid reason; he’s disrespectful, he’s immature, I hate him, and I don’t want him in my shop,” Jinyoung counters in an instant. Well, at least now, Namjoon knows that it’s probably the worst idea on the fucking planet to call Jinyoung _Junior_ , because apparently, doing so puts you at the top of Jinyoung’s “I fucking hate you with my entire being” list.

 

“Oh my _god_ , Jinyoung,” Namjoon groans, letting the back of his head hit his pillows. He feels like he’s missing something going on between Jinyoung and Yugyeom, because literally it looks like they hate each other for no reason at all.

 

“And also, he insulted JB, you know that. That’s fucking shitty, and I’m not gonna let that kind of fuckery slide,” Jinyoung adds crisply, folding his arms. And okay, Namjoon gets it; Jinyoung feels like he’s gotta protect his friends with his dying breath, but he makes it sound like he’s going to kill Yugyeom for just _mentioning_ JB’s name.

 

“On a scale of one to ten, how much do you _actually_ hate him?” Namjoon asks hesitantly, eyes closed. He’s expecting an eight or nine, maybe an eleven or even a thirteen, because Jinyoung _obviously_ doesn’t like this kid --

 

“Seven hundred,” Jinyoung replies, with barely a second gone by after Namjoon’s asked, and -- _what_?

 

“Park Jinyoung,” Namjoon groans. Jinyoung’s definitely taking this one too far.

 

“What?” Jinyoung looks genuinely confused (just like Namjoon). “He’s a fucking dick.”

 

“I _know_ , Jinyoung, you made sure to let me know that,” Namjoon sighs, rolling his eyes.

 

Jinyoung goes on to talk about Yugyeom like he’s the worst thing to ever grace humanity, and Namjoon’s too tired to tell him he’s just _done_ . The whole time Jinyoung’s blabbering, Namjoon wonders if he’d notice Namjoon putting his earbuds in and closing his eyes (because honestly, Namjoon is _really_ tempted to just tune everything out). But _god_ ; Jinyoung does _not_ like Yugyeom for some reason (one that Namjoon still doesn’t understand), enough so that he feels the need to talk about it for nearly an hour and a half.

 

\--

 

Work is typically one of two things: very difficult (thanks to incompetence and lack of experience on his client’s part) or slightly tolerable (read: Suga might smile. _Might_.).

 

Only, working with Namjoon is more than tolerable, and it’s certainly not difficult.

 

“You didn’t follow through on the chord progression. That note right there -- ” Suga says, tapping his pen against Namjoon’s notebook. Well, Suga supposes working with Namjoon is less difficult when he’s not stuck in a hospital bed and drugged up on painkillers.

 

“What? I thought I -- oh my _god_ ,” Namjoon frowns down at his notebook, before throwing his head back and groaning.

 

Suga finds himself laughing, watching as Namjoon furiously erases the entire chord. Yeah, it’s definitely still more than tolerable (as in, Suga enjoys it. A lot), working with Namjoon.

 

“You know, you only had to omit the five notes right here,” Suga says softly, and Namjoon freezes. He stares at his smudged-up paper for a couple of seconds, and then proceeds to groan again.

 

“I suck at composition,” Namjoon says, fumbling with his pencil, nearly sending it flying in the air, and as he's writing, Suga realizes he's scribbling in some of the same notes as before.

 

“You suck at composition when you've just been dosed with morphine,” Suga corrects, and with a swift motion, blocks Namjoon’s pencil from writing anymore with his own mint ink pen. Namjoon jumps, but stops writing, and Suga takes the opportunity to start scrawling in new notes. “And you told me yourself that you don't compose pieces as much as you write lyrics. So don't downgrade yourself for being a beginner. And plus -- ” Suga jots down a reminder for Namjoon off to the side, “ -- I think you're a great composer.”

 

Suga continues to write, and when he realizes Namjoon hasn't said anything (nor has he moved; Suga can barely even hear his breathing), he pauses and looks up at Namjoon to see that he’s staring at Suga, and his face is very pink. Cute.

 

“O-oh, u-um,” Namjoon stutters when he sees Suga looking back at him. “R-really?”

 

“Really,” Suga nods, and suddenly notices his own face feels a little warm.

 

“Ah, th-thanks.” Namjoon’s face turns pinker, but he's smiling bashfully now, chin tucked low. “I’m not nearly as good as you.”

 

Suga snorts, blows his mint fringe out of his eyes. “No one's as good as me,” he says, and Namjoon laughs, bright and soft, eyes curving into perfectly shaped crescents, ducking his chin even lower. The warmth in Suga's own skin rises, spreads to his neck and shoulders, and he wonders if this is how Jungkook feels, telling Jimin his body is beautiful and seeing him laugh and blush. It must be, because Jungkook and Jimin always kiss after compliments, and right now, Suga wants to kiss Namjoon -- wants to hold his face, hold him close and kiss his cheek, his dimples, his lips --

 

“But, if you really aspire to be an _excellent_ composer, you should consider composing when you're not drugged up,” Suga says airily, beginning to write again, cutting off his train of thought quickly. He clicks his pen. “Now, finish off the chord.”

 

Namjoon nods, expression determined, moving quickly to scribble in notes next to Suga's mint green ones. He erases a couple notes, pauses every now and then to squint at his notes. When he's finished, he looks up at Suga, and his eyes are so hopeful and so gorgeous, Suga feels his mouth drying out.

 

“Is this okay?” Namjoon asks, blinking and licking his lips, and he's so fucking _cute_ that Suga feels like he's going to burst.

 

“It's great,” Suga coughs into his fist (Namjoon probably recognizes it as the tell of his fluster at this point), reading over Namjoon’s new notes.

 

“Really?” Namjoon says, and Suga really should have prepared himself, because when he glances up at Namjoon, his eyes are full of _awe_ and _adoration_ , and then it's flooded by embarrassment, and Suga feels his heart swelling.

 

“ _Really_ ,” Suga says back, firmly, and he takes a second to cough into his knuckles again. _Fuck_ ; how do Jungkook and Jimin do this without dying? Suga feels like he’s on the verge of death, seeing Namjoon so happy.

 

Suga clears his throat, looks back up at Namjoon, and he sees guilt glazed over in Namjoon’s eyes, and this time, his heart constricts. Of course; Suga can’t forget that Namjoon likes Jackson, too, can’t forget that Namjoon’s still deciding. Suga must be tugging him in one direction; the thought of Jackson pulling him in the other. And the thought of making Namjoon feel upset, or just _bad_ , makes Suga feel...guilty.

 

Their writing session continues on, then, and though Suga doesn’t recall how, they’re able to ease right back into what they had going. Suga settles for dry insults and wit over testing out the compliments Jungkook had suggested he tell Namjoon. Jungkook had spent almost the whole of Monday afternoon with Suga, running through the basics of flirting and soft praising (Suga still doesn’t really understand what he’d said to him; just remembers Jungkook stressing to always look Namjoon in the eye).

 

And by the time Suga has to leave for work, they’ve finished off the composition for Namjoon’s newest piece. In Suga’s opinion, it’s great, considering the fact that Namjoon’s still all drugged up on his morphine.

 

“Thanks so much, that was so fun,” Namjoon is spilling endless ‘thank you’s to Suga as he’s moving to stand. Suga can’t _not_ look away from Namjoon, whose face is pink again, flustered and _cute_.

 

But then, there’s the same guilt in his eyes, and even if Namjoon hasn’t said a single word about him, Suga finds himself wondering where Jackson is. How frequently does Jackson come in to see Namjoon? Suga’s tried to visit Namjoon as much as possible, cutting meetings short just to be able to check up on Namjoon. Today, Tuesday, he’d been free from work in the morning, and the first thing he’d done was visit Namjoon.

 

Quite possibly, Jackson sees Namjoon daily. It would make sense, seeing as his gang _owns_ this hospital. What does Jackson do with Namjoon? Does he enjoy songwriting with him, too? Does he... _flirt_ with Namjoon? God; if he does, does that mean Suga should be flirting, too? Fuck. Suga doesn’t know how to flirt. _Fuck_.

 

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Suga says, brushing his bangs from his eyes. Is now the good time...to flirt? Before Suga leaves? He remembers Jungkook telling him not to do something too bold; something small, but affectionate. And honestly, Suga has no idea what the fuck that means.

 

As Namjoon’s closing his notebook, Suga searches through his memories of Jimin and Jungkook parting, trying to remember what they typically do (besides eating each other’s faces). He does remember Jimin getting up on his toes to kiss Jungkook’s nose before he had to make a quick delivery, so maybe…

 

Suga leans over the hospital bed, admiring how Namjoon’s eyelashes lightly flutter when he blinks, and then, when Namjoon turns, sees Suga so close, how they rise as his eyes widen and his lips part in surprise (too tempting, too tempting). And then he leans in to kiss Namjoon’s forehead, closing his eyes and revelling in the warmth of the touch. He's starting to see why Jimin and Jungkook enjoy doing this so often.

 

And then he pulls back, looks at Namjoon’s face. He's pink again, flushed to his ears, mouth still just barely hanging open, and all Suga can think is _cute_.

 

“I'll see you soon, Namjoon,” Suga murmurs softly. He's hesitant to leave, wants to be with Namjoon. He’d much rather stay with him than go to work. In fact, he’d much rather stay with Namjoon than do pretty much _anything_ else.

 

“Um, when’ll you come back?” Namjoon asks suddenly, eyes hopeful, and Suga's heart swells again.

 

“Not sure,” Suga admits, because he has three appointments today, no breaks in between.

 

“Ah -- oh,” Namjoon says, disappointed, and as he hangs his head, Suga feels like he’s the worst human being on the planet.

 

“I'll be back soon. I promise,” Suga smiles, and he touches his fingers to Namjoon’s. Namjoon looks up, and he looks hopeful again. He smiles bashfully, and he nods. Very cute.

 

“I'll text you,” Suga says, finally moving himself toward the door. And before he shuts the door, he looks back at Namjoon one last time, and says, “See you, Namjoon,” and then he closes the door, glad that the last thing he saw was Namjoon’s smile, his dimples and eyes, along with Namjoon’s soft, little, “See you.”

 

He’s pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket, about to check the email from his first client, because fuck knows they’re going to tell him they want an extended session, when he takes one step from the door and --

 

“Hey, Suga!” Youngjae chirps, and Suga whips his head up to see Youngjae standing right in front of him.

 

“Fuck, Youngjae,” Suga runs his fingers through his bangs, because _fuck_ , it’s like Youngjae just fucking _materialized_ outside the door.

 

“Oh, oops, didn’t mean to scare you,” Youngjae apologizes, but for some reason, doesn’t step out of Suga’s way. Instead, he glances over Suga’s shoulder and says, “How is he? How are the both of you?”

 

Suga blinks, and when Youngjae continues to stay rooted to the spot, he slowly slides his phone back into his jacket pocket. “He’s fine. And, ah, we’re okay,” he says, swallowing (because, at least, he _thinks_ Namjoon and him are okay). “Why?”

 

Youngjae gives a loose shrug. “Nah, no reason, just wanted to make sure he’s okay, since he’s so important,” he says, actually _winking_ at Suga, and Suga nearly chokes on a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “But the nurses tell me he’s doing fine, like you said. Exemplary patient, honestly.”

 

“I see,” Suga nods, but he doesn’t really see why Youngjae’s so interested in Suga’s... _thing_ , with Namjoon (their relationship, Suga supposes, although he has difficulty specifying it from there).

 

“So how’s the watch going?” Youngjae suddenly asks, tilting his head to the side.

 

Suga frowns; wasn’t really expecting _that_ question. “It’s going alright. I have some guys on the case, checking out the shooter’s neighborhood. Jimin’s leading the search,” he says. Suga feels a pang of guilt, then, because a part of him wants to be out there, at the forefront of the watch, but the other wants to be with Namjoon.

 

“Good, good. If you want to look into safe house locations, I recommend you talk to Eric Nam. He’s not free, but that’s not really a problem, since he’ll get whatever you want done,” Youngjae hums, shifting his weight to one leg. “And he gives nice back massages. _Those_ are free. And also really great for stress. Maybe you could use one; you look a little tired.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll look into him, thanks,” Suga says, shoving his hands into his pockets (maybe a back massage would be nice? The past month _has_ been a real fucking ride, if Suga’s being fully honest). And then he wonders -- are all of these little suggestions going to be coined as favors by Youngjae? “What do I owe you, though? You’ve done a lot for me,” he adds, because it’d be the strangest thing to just be getting all these tips and tricks free of some kind of expense.

 

“Huh? Oh, haha, you don’t owe me anything; it’s nothing. My company’s doing better than usual; not super interested in extra extra payments right now,” Youngjae laughs, and that’s a little _odd_ . Suga could have sworn that Youngjae was _very_ interested in the money he was owed for favors during the last meeting.

 

“Thanks, then. I guess,” Suga says slowly. He waits for Youngjae to step aside, or at the very least give Suga some more space, but instead, he stands rooted to the spot. And also, continues to talk.

 

“Namjoon hasn’t been...bothered by anyone, has he? No one’s noticed anyone suspicious?” Youngjae asks, expression growing a little nervous, and alright, this friendly questioning is becoming a whole lot more suspicious.

 

“No. But you should know that, right?” Suga says, slowly narrowing his eyes.

 

“Hm. I guess I should. Just checking,” Youngjae hums, smiling, but Suga’s suspicion doesn’t lessen any. In fact, he’s even _more_ suspicious now; Youngjae must be looking for someone, but Suga doesn’t know who, nor does he know why they’d be involved with Namjoon.

 

“Is there something wrong?” Suga asks, and he looks for any nervous fidgeting or giveaways to a lie.

 

Surprisingly (or worryingly), all Youngjae does is shrug. “Gotta make sure he’s getting the best care. Didn’t mean to sound intrusive,” he says, and finally sidesteps. But he’s still. Talking. “Anyways, I got a meeting in ten, just passing through. Hope Namjoon feels better!” and then he’s walking away, waving over his shoulder.

 

Suga still feels like there was something Youngjae wasn’t saying out loud, but it’s a little late to interrogate him now. He sighs, heading after Youngjae anyways, because he’s going in the same direction for the exit.

 

As he steps outside, he decides that something had indefinitely been bothering Youngjae, but again, doesn’t know why it would be connected to Namjoon in any way. Jackson seems to be in one odd gang, in Suga's opinion --

 

Jackson.

 

Suga stops walking, furrowing his brow (and also cringing) at the memory of the too loud, platinum blonde biker, and he realizes -- Youngjae might know about Jackson. Jackson, Namjoon, and Suga himself.

 

Suga starts walking again, finding his way over to his bike and pulling his helmet on. It didn't seem like Youngjae was undermining him (he's seen it secondhand; he would know if Youngjae was trying to pull the wool over his eyes), but there’s still the chance that...fuck. That Youngjae’s ‘pro-Jackson.’

 

 _Alright, slow down_ , Suga rolls his eyes as he pulls out of the parking lot and out onto the street. There’s almost _no way_ that Youngjae’s on Jackson’s side -- or, more accurately, _against_ Suga, because Youngjae’s been overly joyful since Saturday morning. So, if Youngjae _does_ happen to be aware of the situation at hand, for some reason, he supports Suga, and not Jackson.

 

Which...would makes sense, given Youngjae’s support for Suga and Namjoon and the fact that Youngjae’s been looking for someone. Because maybe Youngjae’s actually... _against_ Jackson, and he’s trying to make sure he’s not around Namjoon.

 

...but then, _that_ doesn’t make any sense. Why would Youngjae not support his own gang member’s romantic (or sexual?) interests? To Suga, it seems _low_ of Youngjae; cruel and unreasonable. Even if it does benefit Suga, it doesn’t feel fair to just cut off someone’s... _affections_ , for another. If that _is_ what’s actually going on.

 

And come to think of it, Suga doesn’t think Jin or even Taehyung mentioned seeing anyone other than a couple regulars trade shifts outside Namjoon’s room, and the only ones that really had ‘faces’ were Mark, and that one kid Youngjae brought to the meeting, Yugyeom. No Jackson.

 

Suga tightens his grip on his bike’s handles as he makes a turn. It seems like Youngjae is more inclined to strengthen his own gang and polish his relationship with Suga than he is to cultivate his members’ feelings. Suga can’t imagine having to tell any of his close friends to just...stop seeing someone they love.

 

Taehyung, for example, and his relationship with Hoseok. Of course Suga was ticked that Taehyung had chosen to keep it secretive, under the radar, but Suga would never just tell him he’d have to _end_ it. And he can see why Taehyung would be compelled to maintain something just between him and Hoseok, because he’d probably been thinking about the possible danger he would be putting Hoseok in (Suga understands; he feels similarly with Namjoon).

 

And then -- Suga feels himself wince at the thought -- what if he just told Jimin and Jungkook to separate? It’d be like Suga was trying to split a coin in half; heads from tails -- it would basically be ripping _one_ heart apart. He can’t imagine what kind of damage it would do to either of them, to force them to end their relationship. It’d _kill_ them, if Suga’s really being honest.

 

So...Youngjae must have a damn good fucking reason to want to keep Jackson from Namjoon, if that’s truly what he’s trying to do. Suga _prays_ he has a good reason, because if he doesn’t, he doubt he’ll ever be able to think of the other leader the same again.

 

As Suga’s nearing his home, he decides (very begrudgingly) that he’ll ask Namjoon if he’s seen Jackson at all. It’s the only way he’ll be able to figure out what the fuck’s going on without attracting too much attention.

 

While he runs through everything he’s thought up over the drive, it suddenly comes to him that it’s possible that Youngjae and the Seventh are plotting something, maybe using Namjoon. And maybe Jackson disagrees? Because obviously (depressingly), Jackson feels something for Namjoon, and --

 

\-- okay, enough. No more conspiracy theories. Suga’s surprised he’s even managed to think this much without taking at least an hour long nap.

 

As he steps off of his bike, closing the garage, his phone buzzes. It’s a text from his first appointment of the day, telling him she’ll be over soon, and for once, Suga’s glad he’s going to work. Anything to get all this shit off his mind.

 

\--

 

It’s cold.

 

And the air conditioner’s not even on, like, what the fuck. But also, Jackson’s cold on the _inside_ , so maybe that’s why it feels like he’s in the refrigerated section of a Japanese supermarket. And then there’s the fact that Jackson refuses to get up from his couch to even get a stupid blanket, because he just feels...dead. Like, his body physically does not want him to move.

 

At least Jackson’s stopped crying, because crying sucks ass (Jackson has a runny nose now, which is just _great_ ), and also he’d sobbed himself to sleep. He hasn’t felt so weak in three whole years.

 

Jackson lies on his back, staring up at his flat’s ceiling. There are photographs all over his walls, but he’s not feeling too interested in seeing _his_ face, all soft smiles and pretty, unkempt hair. Which is pretty fucking uncharacteristic of Jackson, because seeing Mark smile almost never fails to cheer him up.

 

Well. As a wise man once (probably) said, let the word ‘never,’ be completely fucking useless, because there’s no such thing as consistency.

 

Jackson closes his eyes, but not to sleep (he’s done plenty of _that_ ). His eyes sort of sting, but closing them doesn’t really change anything. He closes his eyes to cycle through the memories of Namjoon; his dimples, his laugh, his smile, his tan skin, his eyes, his pretty, bleached hair. He thinks about Namjoon over and over, and it’s all _supposed_ to make him feel better, but it only serves as something to make him feel all teary eyed and exhausted again (but once he’s started, he can’t _stop_ ).

 

After a couple of minutes, he starts sinking back into the couch cushions, eyes still closed. And he’s just beginning to relax when he hears a knock at the door. The same knock he’s shared with only one other person since he was six years old.

 

“The door’s open,” Jackson yells up at the ceiling. He feels like he should get up, or at least sit up, but...he just stays. Right where he is.

 

Jackson hears the door being opened, a couple steps, and then the sound of the door being shut.

 

“You can lock it. I got something I wanna talk about with you,” Jackson adds, when he doesn’t hear the lock being clicked back into place. He keeps his eyes shut, counting down the steps until they stop at the side of the couch.

 

Jackson blinks his eyes open, greeted with a very blonde Mark Tuan, hanging over the back of the couch and smiling down at him. Mark waves, and typically, this is where Jackson grins and waves back, but he can’t really find it in him to even smile. He just purses his lips and sits up, swallowing hard.

 

“So. Uh. Here, sit,” Jackson glances down at the couch as he touches the space next to him. Mark jumps over the couch, landing criss-cross beside Jackson. Jackson can practically feel the curiosity in Mark’s stare, but he doesn’t make eye contact.

 

It’s quiet for a little, because when it’s just them, Mark doesn’t talk without being talked to, and right now, Jackson doesn’t know what to say. Which is stupid, because he thought he had everything planned out for the past hour of doing absolutely nothing.

 

And finally, with a shaky inhale, Jackson starts. “So do you know why I called you over?” he asks, real simple and easy. He doesn’t really know what to expect from Mark at this point; he feels kind of lost, even though he’s known Mark for what feels like forever.

 

Mark shrugs. “To fuck? I dunno,” he says casually, and Jackson can’t even tell if he’s fucking around or not when he says it.

 

“ _No_ , fuck, I -- I called you here because Youngjae told me you…” Jackson swallows, blinks a couple of times. “...you agreed with him. About putting me on probation.”

 

Mark appears absolutely unfazed, like he saw this all coming (which kind of hurts real fucking bad). “Yep. I did,” he nods, and Jackson feels a little sick at that.

 

“Do you,” Jackson coughs out, “Do you have any idea how much that hurts? Mark, you know me better than _anyone_ . _Anyone_ . I thought you...thought you knew how _great_ Joonie made me feel.” His words sound steady, but Jackson’s shaking, trembling. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel -- sad? Angry? Frustrated? Confused? All of the above?.

 

Mark blinks, and his expression turns serious. “I’m trying to work in your best interests, Jacks. We don’t want Suga trying to _kill_ you.”

 

“My best interests include _being happy_ !” Jackson says, exasperated, because Mark _knows this_ \-- both of them are a little hedonistic in their own stupid ways; Jackson’s just leans more toward... _emotional_ needs. “And plus, Suga wouldn’t do that. I _know_ he wouldn’t,” he says quietly, and then he stops, because how does Mark know about Suga?

 

“You...how do you know about Suga, anyways?” Jackson bites down on the tip of his tongue. Suga and Mark aren’t friends, and the only real connections they have with each other are through other people; Youngjae, and then _maybe_ Jin (they’re both second in commands, so it would make sense).

 

“That’s not important, but it’s cute you think he wouldn’t hurt you,” Mark shakes his head, and he’s smiling fondly. That doesn’t make Jackson feel any better about the whole situation. “And don’t tell me you think you would have been happy with that guy. I know about him and Suga. You don’t deserve a two timer.”

 

And Jackson...can’t believe Mark’s _actually_ just said that. With a straight face. To Jackson. _Especially_ considering his past. The past he _shares_ with Jackson.

 

“Namjoon _isn’t_ a fucking _two-timer_ ; he, Suga, and I already had this discussion before. _Together_ ,” Jackson grits out, and he’s starting to actually feel... _angry_ . Not just helpless and weary, but actually _angry_.

 

“I’m sure you did, Jacks, but you shouldn’t trust liars and cheaters so quickly,” Mark hums, as if _he’s_ never lied or cheated on others before in his life, and he touches a hand to his arm. Jackson wants to recoil, shrink away or run, but he’s frozen.

 

Jackson closes his eyes, has to breathe in and out. He counts from one to ten, slow and practiced, but it doesn’t have that great of an effect in calming his building irritation. Because Mark is Jackson’s _best fucking friend_ , and he’s basically telling Jackson that his dreams of being happy with Namjoon are fucking stupid.

 

“What would you have me to then. How do _you_ suggest I be happy,” Jackson says quietly, and when he opens his eyes, he keeps them low.

 

Mark doesn’t say anything. Jackson doesn’t, either, but he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s waiting for Mark to answer or if it’s because he’s just...tired. Because shouldn’t Mark know by now what Jackson wants? What makes him happy? Or maybe he does -- maybe it’s not that Mark doesn’t want Jackson to be happy; maybe it’s that --

 

“You don’t have to be jealous, if that’s what’s bothering you,” Jackson says comfortingly. He reaches up to Mark’s hand, still rested on his arm, squeezing his wrist. He tries for a small smile; maybe this is just a dumb misunderstanding. “You know you’ll always be number one. That’s not gonna change. Ever.”

 

Mark narrows his eyes suddenly, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. “That’s just it, Jacks. It’s not gonna change, is it?” he says inquisitively, and Jackson tenses.

 

“Wh -- Mark, don’t -- don’t be like that,” Jackson pleads, gripping Mark’s wrist tighter. God, how could Jackson have been so stupid? Of _course_ this is what it’s about.

 

“Don’t be like what, Jacks? Hopeful? Patient? Like how I’ve always been?” Mark tilts his head, and the fact that his voice is so _warm_ , instead of cold or sharp, makes the meaning of his words all the more jarring.

 

“You don’t understand -- it’s -- it’s all -- ” Jackson stumbles over the words, running his fingers through his bangs. He’s always run his mouth, but it’s not like he knows what the right thing to say is, twenty four seven.

 

But doesn’t Mark get it? That you can’t control what you _feel_ ? To Jackson, emotions are fluid and inconsistent; you don’t just tell yourself to _stop feeling that; that’s bad_ , and you don’t just tell yourself to _go ahead and feel that, because that’s what you should feel_ . What Mark expects from him -- Jackson wants to give it, wishes he could satisfy him, but it’s just -- _it’s just_ \--

 

“You’re right. I don’t understand,” Mark sighs, pulling his hand away, looking Jackson dead in the eye. Jackson’s skin feels numb where his fingers had lingered. And then Mark’s tone turns flippant. “I don’t understand what the fuck you see in that boring little bitch. All he does is make coffee, go to college, and fuck around with two people that are way out of his fucking league. He’s just another ordinary, basic as fuck _bitch_ \-- ”

 

“Stop talking,” Jackson says quietly. His heart is pounding and his blood feels hot beneath his skin. He keeps himself (relatively) calm, though, palms flat on the couch.

 

“What?” Mark says, as if he’s surprised, and Jackson feels a shot of something vicious rip through his veins, and he can barely keep himself seated.

 

“You heard me. Stop talking,” Jackson repeats, jaw tight. He’s never felt this way before; hurt and anguish all swirling together to make some bitter cocktail of raw _anger_ . Because Namjoon is _not_ just a...a boring _bitch_ . He looks up into Mark’s eyes. “You don’t know the first thing about Joonie. He’s kind, and thoughtful, he tries his best at whatever he does, and he’s creative and smart and he _cares_.”

 

And then...Mark laughs. _Laughs_ . Doesn’t even try to cover it up. Nope. Just laughs loud and breathy, like Jackson’s joking around, and Jackson is just so fucking _lost_ \--

 

Until it strikes Jackson: Mark was like this, too. In high school, when Jackson was with his last boyfriend. And that makes him _angrier_ , because this is just the same fucking bullshit that Mark is getting worked up over.

 

“Get. Out. Now,” Jackson says, louder, stronger. Mark keeps laughing, softer, but Jackson can still see his shoulders moving with every breath. And Jackson is just _done_ . “Get _out_ , Mark. _Now_ ,” he says, commanding (it almost feels like his skin is burning up).

 

Jackson watches as Mark cocks his head to the side, grinning, like he thinks Jackson’s a puppy grovelling for scraps. He doesn’t move otherwise, just sits and watches, looking _amused_ , and Jackson --

 

Jackson gets up. He hardly glances at Mark's face as he passes by, feet guiding him to the front door. The whole trip he counts his own steps, because he has to make sure this is _real_ , that this isn’t just some cruel nightmare, or a self-conjured illusion.

 

Jackson stops at the side of the door, and when he takes the handle, twists it, he forces himself to open it slowly (he's pretty sure he could break it if he didn't make the conscious effort). “Leave,” Jackson says, squeezing the door handle. “Please.”

 

Mark stares at Jackson, biting his lip. Jackson hopes he realizes how fucking _serious_ Jackson’s being, but then Mark smiles, peeling himself off of the couch at a leisurely pace. Jackson watches as he stands, watches as he practically _waltzes_ over to the door. Does he _know_ how much this is all affecting Jackson? That it’s not just something Jackson can roll off his shoulder with a laugh or grin (it doesn’t fucking seem like it, because Mark’s still fucking smiling)?

 

And then, when Mark stops at the door (next to Jackson), and they hold each other’s gazes for god knows how long. All Jackson can tell is that he feels _upset_ ; like he did a year ago, and he just wants it to stop. Because this shouldn’t be happening; he shouldn’t be upset with Mark. But here they are: Jackson opening the front door and practically telling his best friend of sixteen years to get the fuck out.

 

Mark shifts his weight to his right, and his eyes turn warm (usually, it’s something of comfort, but Jackson already feels like a fucking furnace, and he doesn’t need the extra heat). “You know where to find me when you realize you’re wrong,” he says smoothly, hands in his pockets, and Jackson --

 

“Just -- ” Jackson starts, reaching the edge, but he reels himself back in before he can make that leap. And despite the fact he’s avoided the fall, he still feels...tired. Or maybe _weak_ is a better word. “Just don’t, Mark. Leave. Please,” he says, closing his eyes.

 

Mark licks his lips, still grinning with his pretty, white teeth showing. “You’re gonna be watched, Jacks. So make sure to behave,” he hums, and there’s something about the way that Mark asks him so politely, so _nicely_ , that has Jackson hanging right back on that edge.

 

“Behave, my ass -- _fuck you_ !” Jackson shouts, and _fuck it_ if he gets fined for disruptive activities or if he gets slammed for yelling at Mark; he feels like his nerves are on fucking _fire_.

 

Mark doesn’t bat an eye, just continues to smile, until he takes one step forward, and the second he’s past the doorframe, Jackson slams the door shut with one swing of his arm, letting out an angry cry.

 

Jackson guesses he’s supposed to feel good right about now, relieved that he’s finally let out his frustration both physically _and_ verbally, but the dull echo of the door being shut has him feeling nothing but...regret.

 

He leans his forehead against the door, squeezes his eyes shut and pushes his fist into the wood. And then he just...lets it go. He replays the whole scene over in his head, from point A to point B; the talking, the yelling, the looks, what they exchanged. _Himself_ , an angry, hot mess. He should be ashamed of himself; letting his irritation run out of check (what is he, a _toddler_?).

 

Jackson’s fist uncurls against the door, fingers pressed flat against its surface, and then they slide down. Something like a whimper claws its way up and out of his throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut harder. Those are tears, threatening to spill over, Jackson thinks.

 

With a quick push, he lifts himself up and off of the door, spinning on his heel and heading toward the living room. A part of him wants to go back and open the door, get on his knees and beg Mark for forgiveness, tell him he’s _sorry_ , he went out of line, that he’ll try for compromise, but the other part...doesn’t.

 

The living room carpet becomes victim to Jackson’s non stop pacing, but really, Jackson can’t stop. Fucking. _Thinking_. About all the things Mark said.

 

It’s mildly worrying (read: fucking _terrifying_ ) that Mark just _happened_ to know about Namjoon and Suga, and it’s more than a little concerning that Jackson’s apparently going to be _watched_ , but what’s eating at Jackson the most is all the things Mark said about Namjoon.

 

Namjoon is in no way _boring_ or _basic_ ; he’s not _just_ some average college student, and yeah, he makes coffee, but that’s not _everything_ he does. He makes wonderful music, he has the most interesting thoughts and ideas (dogs totally have dreams), he smiles, and he’s...warm. Not like...not like Mark, where there _is_ warmth, but there’s a certain coldness, too, that Jackson’s come to know well.

 

And...also, Namjoon has a warmth that kind of reminds Jackson of... _him_ . Three years ago, when Jackson could literally hold someone’s hand all day, never wake up alone, have someone whose skin was as familiar to him as his own, have someone look at him with _love_ in their eyes. Namjoon holds the promise of that kind of love, and _fuck_ if Jackson’s being too hopeful, because he wants nothing more than Namjoon to feel that same kind of warmth.

 

 _And Namjoon isn’t a cheater_ , Jackson thinks, and he paces a little faster. Namjoon isn’t walking around with anything behind his back, not trying to keep anything in the dark; he’s not a _liar_.

 

Jackson hasn’t seen Namjoon since Saturday morning; has been sulking and going to classes without having texted or just _talked_ with Namjoon. His pacing falters when he remembers how pretty Namjoon looked in his sleep (even his sleep talk. That was just fucking _adorable_ ), his bleached hair all messy and his skin a healthy tan. And Jackson really just wants to _be with him_ , just to see him smile or hear him laugh. And he’d love to just sprint outside, get his bike and drive out to the hospital to finally _be with Namjoon_ \--

 

\-- except, Jackson’s on -- fucking -- _probation_.

 

All because Jackson’s inadvertently touching up with Suga (that sounds kind of weird, now that Jackson thinks about it), which is _stupid_ , because everything was getting worked out fine, and none of it even has anything to do with their gangs. People get too freaked out over the dumbest things that, honestly, probably aren’t ever going to be a problem.

 

And then Jackson decides _fuck people_ , he’s going to find a way to talk to Namjoon like right now.

 

...except, Jackson’s options are sort of limited.

 

Jinyoung is his go-to for anything and everything, and he’s already told Namjoon about the probation and all that fun stuff, but that’s just message relay, and there’s _no fucking way_ he’s gonna put Jinyoung in any more danger than he’s already in. He didn’t even want Jinyoung to have to risk himself for anything, but for some reason, Jinyoung seemed adamant about trying to keep Namjoon and him together. But also, he doesn’t want to keep pestering Jinyoung (as much as he loves seeing his judge-face), and he definitely doesn’t want to be prohibited from seeing or talking to Jinyoung. Then he’d be alone as _fuck_.

 

There’s no way he’s gonna talk to Mark, who’s probably two hundred percent against anything that has to do with Namjoon. And he’s not gonna bother Zitao, who’s already got enough shit to deal with. The poor guy has to do all that paperwork and sort out the rest of his bad blood with his former gang. He’s also got contact with Luhan, and it’s a fucking miracle no one else has figured _that_ out (it’s something only Jackson and Zitao know).

 

“Ugh, _fuck_ ,” Jackson groans, falling onto his couch. Is there any way for him to find things out or at least be able to _talk_ with Namjoon? _Fuck_ , if only Suga hadn’t made this all so fucking difficult --

 

Wait.

 

Suga didn’t seem to be flipping his shit when he heard about Jackson and Namjoon. And...didn’t he agree to letting Namjoon have some space? And from what it sounded like, Youngjae wasn’t _actually_ asked by Suga to have Jackson put on probation. So maybe...maybe he won’t be so opposed to helping Jackson out.

 

Jackson yells into his couch cushions. But what if _he_ doesn’t want help from Suga? Having to work with someone so...so _cold_ \-- and Suga has the same expression on every time he sees him. Besides, who would want to help their rival out? Suga would probably threaten to run him over with his bike the second Jackson even made eye contact with him.

 

But... _Namjoon_ likes Suga. So...so maybe...he’s not... _that_ bad.

 

Jackson closes his eyes, weighing out his options, and then he remembers Namjoon smiling at him, laughing, cheeks pink and lips looking so soft, and that’s pretty much all it takes for him to give in.

 

“Ugh! Fine!” Jackson yells at his ceiling (because he has to yell at _something_ ). Suga’s his _last resort_ , he _swears_ , because _technically_ , he’s not banned from seeing _his_ stupid face.

 

He pulls out his phone, and without any hesitation, starts to text Jinyoung. It’s just one last favor, and then he’ll make sure he never bothers Jinyoung again. And when he says never bother him again, he means he’ll give him a three day break from dad jokes.

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 5:52 p.m._

_ok so i have a thing i wanna do and its prbably a stupid ass thing and i KnOW ur gonna tell me its stupid ass but just listen ok i need ur opinion_

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 5:52 p.m._

_and possibly ur help lmao_

 

Jackson keeps his eyes glued to his screen, thumbs ready to type out a reply _the second_ Jinyoung responds, and he thanks god when Jinyoung actually responds in under five minutes.

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 5:54 p.m._

_What do you need me to do now?_

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 5:54 p.m._

_I can’t get you out of hell if that’s what you’re asking for, Satan doesn’t let people leave_

 

Jackson rolls his eyes, is about to type out his stupid ass plan, but Jinyoung sends him another text.

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 5:54 p.m._

_And you know I’m working, so I can’t visit Namjoon for you right now_

 

And, well, that’s fine; Jinyoung can just text Namjoon for him. That works, right? Jackson sends his message before he can even answer that question.

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 5:54 p.m._

_RELAX mom i just want u to text joon and ask him if sugas there_

 

Jackson realizes that Jinyoung is probably going to question the fuck out of him, ask if he’s fallen on his head, but Jackson decides he’ll just send him pictures of cats and dogs if he asks too many questions.

 

Surprisingly, though, all Jinyoung says is:

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 5:56 p.m._

_Why?_

 

And Jackson gets in his response real quick.

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 5:56 p.m._

_well ok u see im not on probation for seein suga and i wanna talk 2 joon and i cANT GET U INTO ANYMORE TROUBLE bc god knows mark is gonna get suspicious but hey its not like they can ban me and suga from meeting and definitely not suga and joon from meeting so yea_

 

Seconds later, Jackson sees Jinyoung’s curt (and also rude, like what the fuck?) reply.

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 5:56 p.m._

_*Suga and me_

 

Jackson wishes he could reach through his phone and punch Jinyoung in his stupid black rim glasses, but he settles for punching in a reply instead. Also, Jinyoung’s glasses are probably expensive (because Jinyoung sure as _hell_ has expensive taste), and Jackson isn’t _that_ mean.

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 5:56 p.m._

_OK GRAMMAR MOM r u going to help me or not????????_

 

And Jinyoung thankfully responds like a normal human being, not some cruel ass demon from hell.

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 5:57 p.m._

_Fine. But you know you can’t be seen going into the hospital, and you probably don’t want to be seen even just around it_

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 5:57 p.m._

_Remind me what good will it do you knowing if Suga’s even there or not?_

 

Jackson is about to angrily tell Jinyoung that his plan is _completely_ well thought out, but he stops, because. Haha. It’s not. Not _yet_ , anyways, so he settles for the best response he can give.

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 5:57 p.m._

_im gonna follow him out a ways when he leaves until i know ill be outta range and then TALK i swear i dont wanna fight him_

 

Jackson’s actually kind of proud with himself for being so bold, but of course, Jinyoung has to go and rain on his parade.

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 5:58 p.m._

_This is a stupid ass plan; what if Suga thinks you’re the kid who shot Namjoon? What if he tries to hurt you because he thinks you’re following him around to kill him?_

 

Jackson squints at his phone. Suga isn’t _that_ trigger happy. Probably.

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 5:58 p.m._

_nnah he knows me_

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 5:58 p.m._

_kinda_

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 5:59 p.m._

_i mean he knows i didnt hurt joon lmao i almost hurt him bc i thought HE hurt joon hahha fun times_

 

Jackson laughs, remembering trying to clock Suga on the jaw. Typically, a quick right hook works on everyone, especially when he has a running start, but Suga was able to guard pretty well. Suga would probably make a not too bad opponent for hand to hand combat.

 

And then Jinyoung texts him back.

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 6:01 p.m._

_You’re an idiot_

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 6:01 p.m._

_I’m texting Namjoon right now. You’d better be presentable_

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 6:01 p.m._

_And don’t you fucking dare get shot_

 

Jackson cheers, because _maybe he’ll be able to see Namjoon now_ , _hell yeah_. But also, why should it matter that he looks presentable? Jackson doesn’t care what Suga thinks of his fashion sense.

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 6:01 p.m._

_wait what y tf should that matter_

 

Jinyoung’s response is surprisingly lightning fast. And also sort of annoyed.

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 6:01 p.m._

_Because you want to impress, you nerd_

 

And no, _no_ , Jackson is _not_ interested in impressing Suga. He could care less about mister million-dollar-outfit’s opinion of his outward appearance (and Jackson has some stuff that’s expensive, too, okay?). He’s quick to tell Jinyoung so.

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 6:02 p.m._

_and y TF would i wanna impress that guy im only asking for his help bc i have no other options_

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 6:02 p.m._

_and also he wears like super expensive stuff so DO U KNO how fuckin difficult itd be to impress him like wtf who buys stuff from dulcet stitch like wtf who r u a millionaire_

 

And Jackson realizes his mistake the second he hits send (because yeah, he _knows_ Suga’s a world famous producer, but listen: who cares?), but too late, Jinyoung’s already texting him back.

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 6:03 p.m._

_You know what I’m not even going to try_

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 6:03 p.m._

_Just please. At least have actual pants on_

 

Jackson scoffs; of _course_ he’ll wear pants; Jinyoung couldn’t possibly think he’s going out in his boxers or something. He texts back a reply, rolling onto his side.

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 6:04 p.m._

_thx i think_

 

Jackson lets his phone fall onto the couch, relishing in the sort-of victory he’s made. He feels like he’s just a couple of steps away from being able to see Namjoon. And then his phone buzzes, and he turns his phone back over.

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 6:08 p.m._

_You’re welcome_

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 6:08 p.m._

_And also Namjoon said Suga’s there right now, so you’d better book your fucking ass over there right now_

 

And Jackson practically springs off of his couch after he gets in a very enthusiastic _OK KOOL_ , grabbing at his jacket and keys, and he’s out of there in less than fifteen seconds (joke’s on Jinyoung; Jackson’s been wearing normal pants this whole conversation). He glances down at his phone to see another text from Jinyoung, and he smiles fondly.

 

_From ; Jinyoungie ; 6:10 p.m._

_Please don’t get shot_

 

He thumbs in his response as he slides onto his bike, starting it up and pushing away from the curb.

 

_To ; Jinyoungie ; 6:10 p.m._

_haha dont worry ill be fine!! and thx for this youve officially been spared dad jokes for a WEEK enjoy ur vacation bye_

 

And Jackson starts off toward the hospital. His heart is pounding again, but this time it’s because he’s excited, he’s _thrilled_ . He’s gonna _see Namjoon soon_  -- and also Suga, but that’s not nearly as important.

 

When Jackson gets to the parking lot, he’s quick to scout out Suga’s bike, and he parks across the street. He keeps his body low (Suga doesn’t know what his bike looks like, right?), running through what he’s gonna say to Suga as he waits. He should be stern, right? Because Suga’s always stone-cold, so maybe being short and sweet is his language. Or maybe he should be really casual, because Suga honestly should lighten up sometime --

 

And then Jackson catches movement at the front entrance, and what do you know, it’s Suga, walking right through those glass doors and toward his bike (who else would have minty hair like that?). Jackson lifts his foot off the ground, and starts after Suga. It feels sort of stalker-ish, but it’s all for a good cause (read: to be able to see Namjoon), so hey, that makes it less creepy than it actually is.

 

\--

 

Night drives are always comforting.

 

They’re made even better when Suga’s just visited Namjoon. They’d gotten the composition of another piece started up, this time with Namjoon mostly free of painkiller, and Suga’s feeling confident they’ve begun something decent sounding. It’s a shame he has to work all night, though; editing amateur made lyrics will never be as nice as critiquing a very tired Namjoon’s composition.

 

But other than work, Suga has to coordinate with Jimin and Jin over their still-missing gunman. They have a couple of leads, partially thanks to Youngjae’s advice, and Jimin had suggested they go on a search soon.

 

Suga grips his handles tight. The things he is going to do to the fucking bastard that shot Namjoon -- he’s definitely going to shoot _his_ shoulder, and he’s going to make sure he _bleeds_ . No one’s _ever_ going to hurt Namjoon again; Suga’s going to make sure of it.

 

Sugas stopping at a red light, slowing and then resting his foot against the asphalt, when he notices it again -- the noise. The familiar sound of a bike, not too far behind him.

 

At first, Suga had coined it as just another kid driving by, had decided it wasn’t something he should be concerned over (not when he’s so close to his own territory), but he’s been hearing the same noise since he left the hospital. He’s being followed.

 

Suga glances at his mirror, moving only his eyes, and sure enough, there’s a biker just a couple of cars back from him. Their face is blocked by the side view mirror of a car, but it’s clear that the make of the bike is custom designed. There’s almost no chance that this person isn’t tailing Suga.

 

Suga starts off slowly when the light turns green, cruising straight on, and he watches his mirror out of the corner of his eye. Four blocks later, and this guy’s still behind him.

 

 _Alright_ , Suga thinks, _I’ve had enough of this_ . He digs his heel into the pedal, and with a burst of speed, makes his way back to his house. If this guy’s legitimately interested in confronting him, he can do it on Suga’s own property (where, conveniently, there is a loaded pistol just _waiting_ to be fired into the right person’s shoulder).

 

Suga barely slows down as he opens his gate, and he makes sure to keep it open for whoever has the guts to follow him home. Suga snorts when he hears the sound of his stalker pulling in behind him, still a ways back. He pulls into his garage, but when he steps off, he pulls his helmet off, taking a quick glance at the pistol lying on the table to his right, before turning around and saying flatly, “Alright, _kid_ , care to tell me why you’re following me? I’ve had enough of stalking for the past fucking week, so unless you have something important to say, you should leave before I -- ”

 

And Suga stops dead, because that’s -- Jackson?

 

Yeah; that’s Jackson -- with his platinum blonde hair, shredded jeans, jacket tied around his waist, and grinning like he and Suga are old friends (which, last Suga checked: they’re not). And he’s not even wearing a helmet.

 

“What are you doing here, Jackson?” Suga says, eyes narrowing. He doubts Jackson’s here to kill him, mostly because he doesn’t think Jackson is that much of an ass, and also, if he wanted to, why wouldn’t he have already tried?

 

Jackson jumps off of his bike, thumbing his bangs back. “Duh, I’m here to ask you out,” he says seriously, and Suga fucking chokes on thin air. He’s more than half tempted to just walk over to the table off to the side, grab his pistol and shoot him, because --

 

“What the _fuck_ \-- ” Suga curls his lip -- this little fucking bastard thinks he’s so _fucking_ \--

 

“Holy _fuck_ , relax!” Jackson suddenly laughs, too amused and too bright. “I’m kidding, Jesus _fuck_ ; have you ever heard a joke? I’d never date your ass -- but anyways, I’m here to ask for your help, not a kiss on the lips.”

 

Sugas rolls his eyes. “Then why didn’t you fucking say so; what the _fuck was that?_ ” he says, and _now_ he’s almost tempted to just close his garage door and leave Jackson outside, but he’s not that much of a dick.

 

Jackson shrugs. “Dunno. That’s me trying to cheer myself up,” he says, still smiling, and Suga wonders if he’d still be smiling if he punched him in the throat.

 

“Why would you come to _me_ for help?” Suga asks cautiously. He wonders if Jackson’s injured, and he gives a quick once over his body, but he doesn’t find any cuts or bruises or even any bloodstains in his white wife beater. Just muscle and skin; Jackson looks perfectly healthy.

 

Jackson’s smile suddenly falls a little, and he sighs. “You’re the only guy who can see Joonie without anyone getting suspicious,” he says, but that’s not much of an explanation.

 

“Sorry?” Suga frowns. He remembers wondering if Jackson had been banned from seeing Namjoon, but he hadn’t entertained the thought _that_ seriously.

 

Jackson’s expression turns grim, and Suga gets the feeling he was spot on with his probation theory.

 

“I’m. Um. On probation. I can’t see or talk to or text Namjoon. For like -- I dunno how long,” Jackson explains, and his gaze is serious. And then he shrugs again. “It’s kinda because of you, since Youngjae doesn’t want me getting with Joonie if _you’re_ also getting up with him. But like, it’s indirectly your fault, so I don’t blame you for it. I think,” he adds, sounding much more casual, like before.

 

Suga feels something like...like sorrow, because he realizes _he’s_ been blocking out Jackson from Namjoon. He feels awful, but then -- why? Jackson’s his competition; he shouldn’t feel _bad_ for him. And then he wonders if it’s because of Namjoon that he feels so bad for indirectly hurting Jackson. Yeah; that must be it.

 

“But just to be sure, you didn’t tell Youngjae anything, right?” Jackson pipes up. “Like, you didn’t ask him to...to do this to me?” He’s is laughing nervously, biting at his lip.

 

“No, I’m not that much of an asshole,” Suga shakes his head. He still can’t believe Youngjae would just cut Jackson off from Namjoon like that -- there has to be some phenomenally good reason as to why he’s doing it. “I’d never prevent Namjoon from seeing someone who makes him happy,” he says. Suga does have to admit that Jackson _must_ make Namjoon happy in some way; he can’t deny that.

 

“Great!” Jackson exclaims, suddenly bursting with enthusiasm all over again (it’s already starting to exhaust Suga, just seeing him jump back and forth between emotions so seamlessly). “So since you aren’t that much of an asshole, can you help a guy out and give Joonie a message for me?”

 

Suga blinks. If he does this, he’d be helping his own rival grow even closer to Namjoon. But...wouldn’t it make Namjoon happy? To at least hear from Jackson? And then Suga realizes that this must be why Namjoon has felt a little down lately; Jackson hasn’t been coming in to see him. At all. Honestly, how could Youngjae just _force_ Jackson to stay away from Namjoon? If anything, it’s just making things more miserable, and Suga wouldn’t be any better than Youngjae if he denied Jackson any help.

 

“Alright,” Suga nods slowly. “I’ll help you. If you really make Namjoon happy, then I’ll help you.”

 

Jackson’s eyes widen, as if he expected Suga to say no, get lost, and he looks so _relieved_ , _overjoyed_ , and Suga almost can’t take the positivity.

 

“Shit -- okay, so, uh, tell him I’m trying to find a way to him, like, with a loophole or something, and tell him I’m sorry for making him worry and that I miss him and that he’s wonderful and all that stuff,” Jackson babbles on and on, running his hand through his hair again, looking ecstatic. Suga supposes he would be happy, too, if he was able to see Namjoon after such a sudden separation.

 

Suga just nods, folding his arms. He hopes he’s not going to have to stand there very long, not only because of work, but because it’s cold, and he doesn’t want to have to stand for much longer.

 

“And -- er, I know I said I’d give Joonie some space and stuff to think, but I didn’t mean _this much_ space, haha,” Jackson adds, laughing. Suga just stares blankly, because now he’s really going to have to amp up his game, with Jackson getting back to Namjoon.

 

“Fine,” Suga says, even if he might disagree. But it’s for Namjoon, so he’ll do this one favor.

 

“Okay, so we’ll meet back...here? When you give him the message?” Jackson says, eyebrows raised inquisitively, hopeful.

 

“Sure,” Suga nods, and he’s a little surprised he just agreed to let Jackson back onto his own, private, personal property in the future, but if he’s going to get this done, he’s not going to resist anything trivial.

 

“Cool, cool,” Jackson beams, and suddenly he’s stepping toward Suga. Suga glances down to see his hand move into his pocket, and -- oh, he’s getting his phone out. “Here, you can put your number down,” Jackson is handing his phone to Suga. Suga takes his phone, quickly thumbing in his number. After he’s typed out his own number, he copies Jackson’s number into his own phone (under the name ‘Loudmouth,’ because that seems to accurately describe the platinum blonde).

Suga hesitates as he types in his name on Jackson’s phone, and then decides he’ll let Jackson give him whatever codename he wants, because god knows who the fuck is going to flip their shit if they see Jackson texting Suga.

 

“I typed in my name, but you should change it,” Suga passes Jackson his phone back. Jackson raises a brow, obviously surprised, but then he breaks into a grin, _laughing_ , and Suga stares, because what the fuck is so funny.

 

“Okay then, uh -- ” Jackson says, and then he turns his phone to face Suga, and _fucking --_ “ -- _Sugar_ !” and Suga freezes, because what the _fuck_ , he was _sure_ he typed out _Suga_ , not _Sugar_ (must have been fucking auto correct).

 

“I’d prefer you use ‘not a complete asshole,’” Suga deadpans, and he’s tempted to just take Jackson’s phone out of his hand and slam it on the ground.

 

Jackson purses his lips, turning his phone back. He laughs again. “Nah, this is perfect. Wouldn’t change this for the world.”

 

Suga rolls his eyes. “Won’t someone be suspicious if they read that you’ve been texting someone named ‘Sugar’?” he says (really; there’s only a one letter difference between his name and _Sugar_ ).

 

“No? They’ll just assume I’m texting a new boyfriend, or something, so that’s actually kind of a good thing. Don’t worry, I’m still not gonna ask you out. Ever,” Jackson laughs, and Suga has half the mind to punch him right there. And then, Jackson sighs. “And plus, it’s sort of, fitting, y’know. Sugar. Suits you, with the whole... _thing_.”

 

“Excuse me,” Suga says flatly, and yeah, he’s going to fucking pound this fucker into the ground --

 

“Uh, ‘kay, so bye!” Jackson starts skipping over to his bike, already a safe distance away from Suga before he can flip him over.

 

“Bye,” Suga grunts, not even bothering to wave him off. He’s just relieved he can finally _leave_ , and he watches as Jackson starts up his bike.

 

“Oh, wait, one more thing,” Jackson suddenly looks up at Suga, and Suga wants to kick something.

 

“ _What_ ,” Suga says, glowering. Jackson doesn’t seem to be very affected, just smiling cheekily.

 

“Can you ask Namjoon how his piece went?” Jackson says, and hold on a second --

 

“What?” Suga frowns. Piece? As in, musical piece? Has Jackson _written_ with Namjoon before?

 

“His _piece_ ,” Jackson repeats, holding a hand up to his mouth, as if he thinks Suga didn’t hear him clearly. “Y’know, how it went with his teacher and stuff.”

 

“I heard you,” Suga snaps, rolling his eyes again. “It’s just -- ” he licks his lips. “You’ve written with him before?”

 

Jackson arches a brow, before nodding and grinning. “Yeah. Like, last week. Was a hip hop piece; I think it turned out pretty great,” he says, and then a look of realization suddenly crosses his face. “Oh! You must have been the guy that wrote in mint ink!” he snaps his fingers, suddenly pointing at Suga.

 

Suga blinks (ugh, why is Jackson _pointing_ at him?), but he nods. Not like there are many other people out there that use mint ink pens, anyways. “Yeah. I’ve written with him before, too,” he says, remembering all the different pieces he’s helped Namjoon with.

 

“Oh, cool. Well, I wrote in violet ink, so when you write with him again, you’ll know who wrote those kick ass lyrics,” Jackson says proudly, and Suga hardly believes that Jackson could write anything better than himself, much less be on par with him.

 

“That’s nice,” Suga says, hoping that Jackson will just fucking _leave_ , because he wants to sit in his fucking studio and fucking get to work --

 

“Your style wasn’t too bad, actually. It had nice flow when Joonie rapped it,” Jackson suddenly adds, and Suga splutters (because what the _fuck_ ), but before he can properly respond, Jackson’s revving his bike up and beginning to turn. “Night, _Sugar_ !” And then he’s _finally_ gone.

 

Suga stares as he pulls out of his driveway. He’s not sure if he should feel threatened or flattered. Quickly, he reaches a hand up to his face, and thank god the skin is only a touch warm; there’s no way he was affected by _any_ of what Jackson just said -- no way.

 

Suga closes his garage and hides away all night in his studio, trying to forget how stupid Jackson sounded, calling him _Sugar_.

 

 _What an_ idiot, Suga says. And like _hell_ Suga would even _consider_ dating _him_ \-- he has _standards_.

 

♪

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something that never made it in, but should probably be said anyways:
> 
> Hoseok squints at Namjoon, and Namjoon already knows he's about to let slip some wonderful (read: _terrible_ ) comment about him slip. "You know, Joon," Hobi starts, smacking his lips.
> 
> Namjoon glowers. "What, Hobi."
> 
> "I just realized," Hoseok suddenly grins, and Namjoon just glares harder. "You've been shot before you've even had your first kiss." And _god fucking damnit_ \--
> 
> "Thanks, Hobi," Namjoon says flatly, the urge to smack Hoseok growing stronger. God; is this _really_ that important to Hoseok? _Ugh_ , at least Hobi didn't mention --
> 
> "And before you've ever been fucked, holy shit," Hoseok blinks, and Namjoon flushes, because _why_ \--
> 
> "What the _fuck_ \-- " Namjoon splutters, feeling his face and ears warm. Who -- who the fuck even _cares_ about that kind of thing? Namjoon is _fully aware_ that he's been shot before having lost his virginity, but what fucking right does Hobi have to just shove that fact in his face --
> 
> "I mean, I got shot _after_ I got fucked for the first time," Taehyung says rather unhelpfully, shrugging. "And I got a paper cut to top it off, too. So I mean, I guess..."
> 
> " _Oh my god_ ," Namjoon groans, screwing his eyes shut. Really? This is what they're going to talk about, as Namjoon's lying on a hospital bed, kind of drugged out and in pain because of his shot to hell shoulder? _Really_?


	5. "It's probably a crime to be this slow"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Namjoon struggles -- but what else is new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hELLO IT'S ME WITH CHAPTER FIVE ASKJDLD IT'S BEEN SO LONG AND I AM SO SO SO SO SORRY ;;;;;;;; this chapter needed a ton of cutting and editing asjdkjf and i hardly had any time to write over the past month ;;;; i really hope this chapter has turned out to be one of quality, because that's what all of you guys deserve hsjdkjls also ! i have decided that i will be writing an interlude chapter !! below in the end notes i have some more information regarding this chapter, go check that stuffs out when you've finished up this chapter if ya want to know more ;d
> 
> and i want to thank the people that encouraged me to keep working, hskdkds it really means the world to see your support and i doubt i would have finished this without your kind words ;;;;; i really don't deserve it, but thank you anyways !!!! i wish all of you a wonderful rest of 2k16 ❤❤❤❤❤❤
> 
> a final sidenote: wings. turbulence. i have. no words. i'm a mess. functioning. isn't possible. askdjlskdl
> 
> **a quick note:** the word count for this chapter is around 43k !! with this update i've officially hit and passed 200k, meaning we've roughly reached about the halfway point !! ,,,,,,,,what the heck, how did i get here hskdjlsk anyways aS ALWAYS please remember to take care of your eyes as you read !! and also i don't think i've ever mentioned it before but really you should probably never open this fic in full index view, that's...a bad idea. don't do that. pls. love yourselves omfg
> 
> **content notes:** remember ! who's the cutest, tolest barista ;* what an angel my bby mfdhklsjd
> 
> this chapter probably has some stuff that will ?? hopefully ??? make sm1 emotional ???? maybe ????? idk i'm sorry if this doesn't measure up to your expectations this chapter was an absolute mess when i first finished it
> 
> **warnings:** there is the mention of **minor** character death, and there's absolutely nothing described about it. it's not one of the cast members, and you aren't going to cry when you read about it. (at least, i think ?) don't worry, i'm too weak to kill anyone off, i love my children ❤❤❤❤❤ (read: i love making them suffer ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤) 
> 
> and that's all i have to say, please enjoy chapter 5 !! 'v'

 

♪

 

The dumb thing about recovery is that it takes time.

 

But the good thing about recovery is that people are there for you literally every step of the way, and even if Namjoon’s pretty much stuck to a hospital bed for more than twenty hours a day, he gets to see his friends up close and personal every day (and also gets sweets and consolation gifts; those are definitely a bonus).

 

Over the week that Namjoon’s been in recovery, Hoseok has frequented the most, coming in at the morning, dropping by after lunch, before dance practice starts, and sometimes even after dance practice is over (at pretty much eleven; Hoseok is actually a guardian angel in disguise). Jinyoung swings by a lot, too, and although it’s more day-to-day, he keeps him plenty of virtual company, texting during classes (shocking, Namjoon thinks -- at least it means Jinyoung cares about him) and sometimes during work. 

 

Obviously, Namjoon has seen a whole lot of Jin and Taehyung, too, who are always nice to have (slightly awkward) conversations with, but every time he sees them, he feels like he gets to know them better.

 

And then, of course, there’s Suga, who, while not as frequent a visitor as Hoseok, definitely stays the longest. Like right now. 

 

Suga’s seated next to him, reading over Namjoon’s latest draft, and Namjoon’s eagerly awaiting his criticism, or any tips. Suga’s been here for almost three hours now, helping Namjoon make revisions to a couple of his pieces. 

 

“It’s good,” Suga finally says, breaking through their quaint, little silence. Namjoon blinks, looking from Suga’s eyes down to his notebook, because -- woah? Really? Suga likes it? But then again, this  _ is _ the seventh version of the draft (Namjoon is  _ tired _ when he writes, okay?), so maybe that’s what it is.

 

“You, ah, think it’s good to be turned in?” Namjoon smiles as he takes back his notebook. He finds that Suga’s only made a few minor notes, little bits of advice on how to improve the thematic aspect of the piece, but other than that, there isn’t too much mint ink on his paper. Which is...weird? Because Suga tends to mark up the entire paper with mint ink

 

Suga nods, clicking his pen. “Yeah. If you’re satisfied with it yourself,” he says, spinning his pen with his index and middle finger. 

 

Namjoon feels like he’s one cloud nine, because anytime Suga praises him, he gets this sort of warm feeling in his chest -- not just because Suga’s a wealthy, professional producer, but also because...it’s  _ Suga _ . And Namjoon realizes he’s starting to feel all fuzzy like that whenever Suga even looks at him, and it’s a feeling Namjoon’s still trying to get a handle on (and sort of failing to; it’s  _ hard _ to understand all these  _ feelings _ ).

 

But also, Suga seems a little...different, tonight. He’s been spinning his pen around his index a lot, especially after Namjoon talks directly at him. Namjoon isn’t a hundred percent sure what ‘Nervous-Suga-Behavior’ looks like, but it sure seems like something’s bothering him now. And Namjoon’s...worried.

 

“Hey, is something bothering you?” Namjoon pokes Suga’s knee with his own pen, trying for a warm smile. Maybe it’s just something at work? That wouldn’t be surprising; Suga’s been pretty busy as of late (with a bunch of “juveniles that can’t work independently for shit”).

 

Suga blinks down at Namjoon, and Namjoon can see in his eyes that he’s deciding how to answer. And then Suga turns to look down at his knees, sighing, and he sounds...tired.

 

“I...have a message,” Suga says, a little slowly, and Namjoon raises his eyebrows. He’s about to ask from whom, when Suga looks back at Namjoon, and Namjoon gets that warm feeling in his chest again. “From Jackson,” he says, and Namjoon feels his heart skip a beat, because --  _ because _ \--

 

“Jackson?” Namjoon echoes eagerly, enjoying how  _ natural _ it is to say the platinum blonde’s name. It feels like it’s been forever (it’s really only been almost a week) since he’s last seen Jackson, thanks to his probation, and he can’t help but sit up straighter at his mentioning.

 

Suga nods, twirling his pen again. “Jackson said he wanted to find a way to you,” he says evenly, and Namjoon feels something like elation climbing up in his throat.

 

“Really? Even with his...probation? I -- that’s -- sweet,” Namjoon says, awed, when he realizes that, yeah, Jackson wants to see him, even if it’s gonna fuck with his probation and rules and shit. Which is...actually mildly terrifying, because what if he gets into more trouble because of Namjoon? “Er, but won’t he be breaking rules, and stuff? I don’t want him to be punished even more,” Namjoon says, gripping the spine of his notebook. A part of him feels uneasy saying the word ‘punish,’ because Namjoon still isn’t really sure  _ why _ Jackson’s been put on probation again.

 

Suga snorts. “Yeah, that’s  _ his _ problem,” he says, flicking his bangs to the side. But then his eyes soften, and he stops moving his pen. “He...said he was sorry for making you worry. He misses you,” he adds, and Namjoon blinks, feeling his face warm a little. Hearing that Jackson -- Jackson  _ misses _ him is -- it makes Namjoon feel warm (sort of like how he feels when Suga looks at him?).

 

“Oh. Oh,” Namjoon swallows. He wishes he could talk to Jackson --  _ has _ been wishing he could talk to Jackson, and he wonders what exactly the platinum blonde is doing right at that moment. And then he frowns, because...wait. How did  _ Suga _ and  _ Jackson _ exchange this information? Last Namjoon checked, they wanted to punch each other’s teeth out.

 

“Wait -- um, if you don’t mind me asking, how is it that...you two talked?” Namjoon looks up at Suga curiously, blinking. They couldn’t have just become best buds overnight -- that’d be like something supernatural (because the last and also first time Namjoon saw them together, they  _ definitely _ wanted to kill each other).

 

Suga smirks, leaning forward in his seat toward Namjoon, and Namjoon kind of almost dies. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says, sounding amused, and Namjoon flushes but then. Hm. Namjoon doesn’t actually know?

 

“I. Uh. Don’t actually know,” Namjoon laughs nervously, hoping his face isn’t as pink as it feels. 

 

Suga pulls back, expression returning to its placid state, and he shrugs. “He asked nicely,” he says, nonchalant. 

 

“Oh,” Namjoon  says, and he laughs a little, because the image of Jackson and Suga being one hundred percent civil with each other is kind of... _ weird _ . But hey, if they got through at least two sentences free of glares or insults or threats, Namjoon’s happy. He doesn’t want either of them to fight with each other, even if it’s...sort of...inevitable. Yeah. Optimism!

 

They both settle into a comfortable silence after that, Namjoon reading over Suga’s notes another time over. And then Namjoon feels Suga’s eyes on him, and he lifts his chin to meet his gaze, lifting his eyebrows inquisitively.

 

“What’s up?” Namjoon hums, resting his notebook against his lap. Is there something still nagging at Suga?

 

Suga clicks his pen, before slipping it into his own notebook, as if he’s turned tired of moving his fingers so much. “I didn’t know you wrote with him, too,” he says, and Namjoon blinks, realizing he’s referring to Jackson.

 

“Oh -- yeah, yeah, he’s helped with a couple of pieces. The one piece I turned in last was one I collabed with him; it went really, really well,” Namjoon nods, flipping through his notebook until he catches sight of violet ink -- Jackson’s signature touch. He smiles down at Jackson’s scratchy handwriting, scrawled all over the page (“Holy fuck ur emo here wtf think happy thoughts” or “Are you in hell?? No, u aren’t, so CHEER UP” or, Namjoon’s favorite -- “ok this doesn’t seem to flow right so we’re just gonna” followed by a violet line through some of the lyrics Namjoon had written).

 

“I see,” Suga exhales, and when Namjoon looks up at him, Suga’s looking at his notebook, probably reading through what Jackson’s written. And then Namjoon feels a stab of guilt, right to his gut, because  _ duh _ , of course Suga isn’t going to be thrilled to hear that Namjoon writes with Jackson, too. Writing music together, side by side, is pouring your soul out onto paper, exposing yourself to someone you  _ trust _ \-- it’s something special. Not just to Namjoon, but to Suga, too. Where Jackson and Namjoon talk a lot, Namjoon and Suga tend to  _ write _ a lot, and it’s one of the ways they just... _ connect _ .

 

Namjoon inwardly yells at himself, because great, just  _ great _ , Namjoon, way to fuck with Suga’s emotions, what a terrible fucking human being you are. He stares down at his notebook guiltily and he turns to apologize, but he’s stopped when Suga speaks up himself.

 

“Hey, no -- don’t be like that,” Suga is saying, looking concerned, and Namjoon’s about to apologize anyways, when Suga leans forward, and --

 

Suga’s kissing him. On one of his dimples.  _ Again _ . Except, closer to his mouth, maybe just the barest centimeter shy of his lips, and that shuts Namjoon up  _ real _ quick, eyes widening. Suga’s lips feel cool against his skin, gentle, and it’s so, so  _ perfect _ \-- but holy  _ fuck _ , Namjoon’s skin is burning up, like,  _ wow _ , does Namjoon have a fever or something?

 

And then Suga pulls back, slowly, and Namjoon just stares, swallowing hard. Suga’s eyes are glowing, like he’s contented, but he suddenly blinks, and the color drains from his face.   
  


“Fuck -- I --  _ fuck _ ,” Suga says, shoulders going stiff. “Fuck, I’m so sorry -- I just -- wanted to tell you it’s -- It’s not your fault, and I’m being fucking stupid,” he elaborates, ducking his head, coughing into his knuckles. 

 

And Namjoon touches a hand to Suga’s wrist quickly, because -- uh, no? Suga is  _ not _ allowed to feel upset over a -- a kiss. On the cheek. And also,  _ Namjoon _ should be the one upset for fucking shit up here, not Suga.

 

“No,  _ no _ , don’t be sorry for -- that. Kind of. T-thing,” Namjoon stutters out, voice wavering as he finishes off his sentence. And they stare at each other, Namjoon anticipating some sort of response from Suga, but instead, they just -- laugh. The nervous, soft, unsure kind of laugh, and it’s sort of awkward, but watching Suga’s eyes slant so perfectly, corners of his mouth upturning as he laughs in his low (and really attractive, if Namjoon is being perfectly honest) drawl, Namjoon thinks it fits them both perfectly.

 

When they’ve both calmed down, Namjoon reluctantly lets his hand slip away from Suga’s. He misses holding hands with Suga as something casual, even if it was all pretty brief, and he misses holding hands with  _ Jackson _ , and he misses seeing them both so  _ happy _ and  _ comfortable _ and -- ugh, okay, enough double pining; Namjoon’s already enough of an ass just liking two people at once and not being able to choose

 

Suga has to leave just a few minutes later, receiving an ‘emergency’ call from a client. He rolls his eyes as he lets whatever idol is on the other line gripe at him, and he ends the call with a curt,  _ Alright _ , before promptly shoving his phone into his pocket. He stands, but instead of heading straight out the door, he touches his knuckles to the back of Namjoon’s hand. He’s smiling softly down at Namjoon, and Namjoon smiles back, and he’s pretty sure he’s flushing down to his neck, but hey, at least he’s smiling back without choking. 

 

“Goodnight, Namjoon,” Suga says, like he always does before leaving for work.

 

“‘Night,” Namjoon says back, just before Suga slips through the door, closing it softly behind him.

 

Namjoon is left alone, then (of course, discounting the random grunts from Jackson’s gang from outside the door, and of course, Taehyung), and he blinks down at his notebook. He flips the page it’s opened to back and forth, staring down at the contrast of mint and violet. He finds himself laughing a little, because their notes are pretty much complete opposites of one another. And then he wonders absently what it would be like to get them to write together, and if it’d actually be possible.  _ That _ would be a miracle. Also sort of impossible, but it can’t be  _ so _ wrong of Namjoon to hope.

 

\--

 

Being around idiots is, without a doubt, one of the worst parts of Suga’s job.

 

What’s worse about  _ this _ particular idiot is that he’s  _ loud _ , and he isn’t even a client -- it’s  _ Jackson _ . Suga’s been dealing with his --  _ presence _ , for a whole  _ week _ now, with his juvenile texts (they have Suga wondering just how  _ old _ Jackson really is) and all of his  _ talking _ . Currently, Suga is being forced to endure the latter of the two nuisances -- for the past five minutes or so. 

 

“ -- and I busted out so fast -- I mean, I know I’m not actually being  _ watched _ watched, but like, fuckers had no idea I was gone,” Jackson is gushing, unbearably enthused over his whole --  _ escape _ (Suga would  _ hardly _ call it that; all Jackson did was ‘go out for lunch’). It’s the fifth time Suga’s had to go through with all of --  _ him _ . “And they probably still don’t have a clue! Stealth should be my middle name,” he adds with pride, sitting up straight, and Suga doesn’t even bother resisting a cringe.

 

“Jackson,” Suga says flatly. He’s hard pressed to care about whatever’s going on in Jackson’s life -- he’s here to hear what Namjoon said, and to tell Suga whatever romantic nonsense he wants to be passed back to Namjoon. Not to go on and on about how Youngjae’s  _ too busy to notice I’m gone, poor guy’s swamped with work _ .

 

“What?” Jackson quirks a brow, and Suga’s willing to bet he’s doing it on purpose (how  _ immature _ is he?). Suga glares, and Jackson just blows his platinum blonde bangs out of his face. “Jesus, it’s called being  _ conversational _ ,” he grins, (disappointingly) unfazed. “I’m trying to be civil, y’know? For Namjoon’s sake?”

 

Suga snorts. “Believe me when I say I’m trying, too,” he mutters under his breath, because in the end, this is for  _ Namjoon _ \-- Suga is doing this for  _ Namjoon _ . Jackson doesn’t seem to catch it, though, or he chooses to ignore it (Suga’s going to go with the latter possibility).

 

“Anyways, yeah, yeah, Namjoon. I’m here for Namjoon,” Jackson says breathily, waving his hand dismissively. He sits forward in his ( _ Suga’s _ , that bar stool is  _ Suga’s _ ) chair, propping his chin against his fist. “So tell me, how is he? What’d he say? ‘S his shoulder doing better? Is he sleeping alright?” he inquires, all rapid fire, and Suga’s half tempted (fully tempted) to take him by the collar and tell him  _ one thing at a time _ .

 

Somehow, though, Suga refrains from lifting even a finger. He inhales, closing his eyes. “Namjoon is fine. The pain’s been getting better, and he isn’t taking as much painkiller,” he says, blinking his eyes open. “He’s sleeping alright,” he adds, and he can’t help but think of how at peace Namjoon seemed when he had fallen asleep during one of their writing sessions. Suga had decided to stay with him until he’d woken up, torn between deciding whether or not he should wake Namjoon up or leave and let him sleep -- Namjoon was just too gorgeous for Suga to even move an inch.

 

“Good, great, that’s great,” Jackson beams, and Suga somehow finds the will in him to not glare. “How is he, though? Like,  _ him _ himself. Is he...happy? Stressed?” he suddenly pushes, forearms rested on the counter. He purses his lips. “‘Cause, y’know, that’s all sort of really important, too.”

 

Suga sniffs; does Jackson think Suga doesn’t know that (Suga would be offended, but this is  _ Jackson _ \-- he doesn’t deserve the satisfaction)? “He’s fine,” he says, hardly restraining the whiplash in his tone. “He’s been...happy,” he adds rather begrudgingly. The image of Namjoon smiling, laughing, is suddenly so bright in his mind, and he feels his face warm at the memory of his laugh, of the --  _ kiss _ .

 

“And?” Jackson drawls, brows raised, and Suga blinks, trying to block out the forehead kiss, the way Namjoon had looked so embarrassed and so beautiful.

 

“He’s  _ fine _ ,” Suga grits out, nearly scowling. Suga might enjoy thinking of Namjoon’s dimples and grin every five seconds, but it isn’t as if he’s going to daydream about it with  _ Jackson _ . Both of them may like Namjoon, but Suga’s going to keep his own thoughts to himself ( _ especially _ the less...chaste ones).

 

“Okay, okay, sure, I’ll take your word for it,” Jackson rolls his eyes, palms raised defensively. He reaches a hand up to thumb his bangs back, sighing loudly. “I haven’t seen him in a while, okay? I’m pretty sure that gives me the right to be worried,” he says, and Suga watches as he runs his tongue over his lower lip.

 

Suga blinks. He’s not exactly sure how he’s supposed to respond -- he knows that Jackson being on this...long term probation isn’t really his fault; it’s a terrible misunderstanding that Suga thinks could easily be cleared up. And Jackson’s...right. He hasn’t seen Namjoon all week, whereas  _ Suga _ has been able to see him nearly whenever he wants (or more of whenever his schedule allows him). Suga imagines that he’d be worried if he was unable to see Namjoon at all for such a long time.

 

“Yeah,” is all Suga responds with, half hearted, airy. Really, he just wants this to be over with, to be done and carry on with his day.

 

Jackson doesn’t seem to share this sentiment. “But! Not like we’ll be apart  _ forever _ \-- I’ll work something out soon, be a little stealthy,” he says, sitting up straight, and Suga stiffens. How can Jackson just --  _ say _ something like that? He’s implying he’s going to flat out disobey his own leader, and while it isn’t Suga’s place to tell him what he should and shouldn’t do (although, at this point, Suga’s tempted to push him to his  _ knees _ if he doesn’t shut the fuck up), seeing Jackson be so --  _ brash _ , has Suga feeling irked, because this is  _ Namjoon _ he could be endangering.

 

“So, uh, I got something else I want you to tell him,” Jackson pipes up, grinning far too wide for Suga to be comfortable. Suga inhales, exhales, nods. A part of him asks why he’s doing this, because this is  _ Jackson _ , but he quickly reminds himself that this is all for  _ Namjoon _ \-- Jackson has no importance in all of this. “Tell him I miss him, I hope he’s doing great, no back pains or shoulder pains, and that I’m working some stuff out,” he smacks his lips, suddenly breaking into a grin. “And that when he’s out of the hospital, I’ll probably have something ready.”

 

Suga holds his breath, looking Jackson straight in the eye. It’s like a sting -- the notion that Jackson will finally be able to see Namjoon  _ directly _ . Suga isn’t  _ possessive _ ; he certainly doesn’t control who Namjoon sees or talks to, but the thought of having to -- _ compete _ , all over again, just isn’t the most thrilling concept.

 

So Suga clears his throat. “I’m going to take him out of the hospital early,” he say, unblinking.

 

At first, there’s no response (at least, verbally; Jackson looks like he’s just been told someone died), and Suga’s about to let himself feel some satisfaction with having silenced someone so  _ loud _ , but hardly a second passes before Jackson blurts out, “What? Why? He’s still getting better, there’s no reason for him to have to leave early.”

 

Suga stops himself from curling his lip. “He’s been there for long enough,” he says, curt, leaving off a less polite,  _ and I don’t want him in the hands of someone I’m having trust issues with. _ But even so, Jackson (surprisingly) seems to grasp the subtext with ease, brows raised, before quickly furrowing.

 

“What -- oh.” Jackson blinks, and he’s eyeing Suga warily. “No, I got it, I got it,” he says, and Suga sees his fingers, curled into fists, tighten. Suga almost snorts.

 

“I’ll have him out by Saturday,” Suga says coolly, looking Jackson dead on. “He’ll have a private doctor, if you’re worried about how he’ll be taken care of,” he adds, standing up straighter.

 

“Yeah, I mean, I am worried about that,” Jackson nods, giving a bare shrug. “But honestly, I’m more concerned over other stuff,” he says, and Suga goes still. There’s no way that wasn’t baiting, a jab meant to further irritate Suga, but Suga resists. He doesn’t care about whatever  _ other stuff _ Jackson is concerned about. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his gaze level with Jackson’s, who in turn, keeps his gaze level with Suga’s. 

 

The air is tense -- it’s as if there’s something tangible flitting between them. Sparks, maybe, because the atmosphere is charged, electric. Suga sees Jackson’s hand beginning to move, slide off of the table, and Suga begins to make a move himself --

 

“So! I guess that’s all for today, then, huh?” Jackson suddenly says, loud, throwing his arms above his head, and with that, the tension dissolves in mere seconds (it’s almost as if Jackson is completely _ dismissing _ it; the sharp words and the equally sharp looks).

 

Suga nearly splutters, watching as Jackson’s muscles strain and ripple as he stretches, fingers splayed as he reaches toward the ceiling. “I -- ” he starts, quickly regaining his composure. “Sure,” he mutters, flicking his bangs to the side.

 

“Great!” Jackson grins, arms falling to his side, and he hops down from the bar stool. “I’ll keep in touch,” he says, almost gleeful as he makes his way toward the garage.

 

“Sure,” Suga says again, sending a half hearted glower Jackson’s way (he hardly feels any satisfaction, though).

 

“Oh, and,” Jackson stops beneath the door frame, hand braced against the side. He throws a glance at Suga over his shoulder, grinning. “Text me when you get him out of the hospital.”

 

_ Why? _ Suga thinks bitterly, before reminding himself that this is  _ Jackson _ , of course he’s going to pester Suga about everything he does. Suga almost regrets telling Jackson about taking Namjoon out early.

 

“Sure,” Suga grits out, eyeing Jackson as he drums his fingers against the door frame (what is he  _ waiting for _ , Suga just wants him to  _ leave _ ). 

 

“Are you absolutely sure you’re sure?” Jackson asks with a raised brow, and -- the fucking  _ nerve _ \--

 

“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” Suga snaps, skin burning, and he has half the mind to jump Jackson, pin him to the ground and tell him to  _ fucking grow up _ (because  _ honestly _ , just who  _ is _ Jackson and how  _ old _ is he?).

 

Jackson snickers --  _ snickers _ \-- tapping his knuckles against the door frame. “Jesus  _ fuck _ , you’re easy to piss off,” he says with a grin, running his tongue over his lower lip.

 

Suga blinks, realizing how easily he’d fallen for the (completely, absolutely  _ childish _ ) taunt. The heat in his skin fans out, up to his cheeks and neck, and he swallows. He’s -- he’s not  _ embarrassed _ , Jackson’s just being --  _ ridiculous _ . And Suga’s feeling  _ second hand _ embarrassment,  _ not _ embarrassment; there’s a clear  _ difference _ .

 

“Go eat your goddamned lunch,” Suga mumbles, narrowing his eyes. He checks for any items to throw in Jackson’s direction, but the nearest object is a knife, and Suga would prefer to do other things than just straight up  _ kill _ Jackson.

 

“‘M’kay, I’m going, I’m going,” Jackson says, still  _ grinning _ as he steps into the garage. Before he leaves, though, he casts one last glance at Suga, and with the most disgustingly bright grin, says, “See you around, sugar.”

 

And Suga  _ burns _ , because -- because -- he can’t just  _ say _ that, what the  _ fuck _ . Suga’s about to make a grab for the knife, when Jackson lets the door slam shut behind him.

 

Suga grinds his teeth together, glaring as darkly as he can at the door, where Jackson had stood just moments before. He flexes his fingers, inhaling and exhaling. That godforsaken  _ nickname _ \-- no matter how often Jackson uses it (which is much too often), Suga can’t stop the rush of ire he feels whenever he just --  _ says it _ . It’s  _ infuriating _ , and --

 

“Fuck,” Suga curses, a palm held to his cheek. His skin is positively  _ burning up _ , and there’s no way he isn’t flushing. 

 

_ It’s from anger _ , Suga tells himself, hurrying toward his studio.  _ Not _ embarrassment, there’s no fucking way Suga is feeling  _ embarrassment _ \-- this is Suga being irritated, and nothing more.

 

\--

 

The next whole week is  _ much _ better than Namjoon’s first.

 

For starters, Namjoon’s arm feels  _ way _ better, even if it’s still pretty sore, and Namjoon doesn’t need painkiller nearly as much as he had before. Hoseok drops his usual stuff off, little meals and snacks, and Namjoon doesn’t think he can praise the guy enough (“Just eat your food and get some sleep,” is all Hobi says whenever Namjoon tries to thank him).

 

Suga starts coming in to see him everyday, sharing long writing sessions together in the evening as per usual. And Jimin and Jungkook even start taking shifts in Jin and Taehyung’s place every now and then. Both are always side by side when they swing by Namjoon’s room, never separated, and they certainly seem comfortable kissing and holding each other in Namjoon’s presence. It’s always just gentle little caresses or squeezes, though, nothing explicit, and hey, they actually make nice conversation with Namjoon (even when they’re semi-making out with one another).

 

And then, with Jinyoung, Namjoon starts learning about Jackson, little by little. Namjoon doesn’t really remember how it started, but now, whenever Jinyoung sits by his hospital bed, he’s telling Namjoon the simple stuff about Jackson.

 

Namjoon learns that Jackson likes orange bubblegum, and that he has a habit of biting on his straws whenever he drinks (something Namjoon had noticed, but hadn’t really thought about that hard). Apparently, Jackson likes meat a  _ lot _ , but he has a ‘diet’ (Jinyoung says whilst rolling his eyes) that confines him to mostly greens and fruits. Jackson’s also apparently good at every single sport ever (excluding soccer) and he can do one handed push ups (which, honestly, sounds kind of really fucking hot).

 

Jinyoung seems more than willing to share everything about Jackson, particularly anything embarrassing (like when he told Namjoon about Jackson falling asleep at the salon, and waking up with a terrible excuse for a buzzcut), and Namjoon finds that a) Jinyoung seems to know a  _ lot _ about Jackson and that b) Namjoon really enjoys learning about Jackson.

 

Everything’s pretty much seamless from then on, and it isn’t until later that things simmer down to something more serious, when Jimin comes in for his shift-- by himself. Which is weird, because it’s never  _ just _ Jimin; it’s always  _ Jimin and Jungkook _ . And judging by Jimin’s off attitude, something’s...not good?

 

Namjoon tries not to be too invasive, because maybe it’s just that someone’s relative is dead, and that’s really not Namjoon’s business, but Jimin doesn’t really talk to him. He’s not even on his phone; only checking it every few minutes. He must be waiting for some message, but it doesn’t seem like he’s received it yet.

 

Finally, when the silence has grown pretty unbearable (because it’s  _ Jimin _ , and Jimin  _ always _ talks), Namjoon speaks up.

 

“I, uh, know it’s really not my place to ask and I don’t mean to pry, but, um, is something wrong?” Namjoon asks, a couple of seconds after Jimin has slipped his phone back into his pocket for the fourteenth time in less than two minutes. 

 

Jimin glances up from his lap, licking his lips before giving a warm smile, but his eyes are dull. “No, it’s totally fine, don’t feel that way. I haven’t been doing a very good job at being subtle, huh?” he laughs, somehow instantaneously cheery again. “Yeah. Something’s up, but -- ” he purses his lips, “ -- you might wanna talk to Suga about it. Dunno if I should be the one to tell you.”

 

“Oh. Uh, ‘kay,” Namjoon shakes himself, nodding. He can’t imagine what’s troubling Suga now, and he knows for sure it isn’t idol-drama. Not if it’s affecting Jimin like this.

 

Namjoon compiles a few different ways to go about Jimin’s mentioned ‘something’ by the time Suga arrives, but he’s still not sure what he’s even asking about. But...Jimin told him to ask Suga. So that’s technically a green light to ask about that...something?

 

Namjoon finally works up the courage to bring up the topic of ‘something’ when he’s starting on another piece with Suga. The whole session, Suga seemed a little miffed himself, too, like Jimin, but Namjoon doesn’t have a single clue as to why.

 

“So, is everything going okay? With you? And...uh…” Namjoon starts, letting his pen roll over his notebook. Suga stares blankly at him, probably wondering what the fuck Namjoon’s going on about ( _ Namjoon _ doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s going on about). “Sorry, uh, I dunno what I’m even talking about. You just seemed...down. And I’m worried,” he sighs, letting his shoulders relax. It occurs to Namjoon that he doesn’t really know  _ anything _ about what’s going on beyond his hospital room door, aside from what his homework is and how his friends are faring -- he’s...isolated.

 

Suga is quiet for a moment, before he sighs and shakes his head. “You’re not...noticing nothing. I’m just...thinking,” he supplies, and it’s relieving to know that Namjoon’s not clawing around at thin air, but at the same time, he still doesn’t know what’s  _ wrong _ , and he’s growing a little more concerned.

 

“Oh. Uh, you don’t have to tell me if it’s something personal,” Namjoon says quickly, swallowing. And then, pensively, adds, “Is there...anything I could do to help you, though?”

 

Suga only moves his eyes, settling them back on Namjoon, and there’s something sad about the way he’s looking at Namjoon. “Do you really want to know?” he says, voice low, and Namjoon almost shudders.

 

“Yeah. Anything to lift whatever burden it is off your chest,” Namjoon says, nodding to reassure not only Suga, but himself. He almost feels...uneasy, with how tense Suga seems.

 

Suga blinks, as though he wasn’t expecting such a kind answer, and he sighs, deep and long. “Alright,” he says, and Namjoon forces his muscles to remain lax as he nods. He can take whatever it is that Suga’s stomaching; he’ll do it for Suga.

 

Suga’s expression grows weary, and he taps his finger once against his thigh before he speaks. “I’ve been searching for the person that shot you,” Suga begins, and Namjoon feels his throat grow tight at the memory of the shooting. His shoulder doesn’t hurt like it did before, but the dull sting always reminds Namjoon that yeah, he was shot, like, two weeks ago. “And we found him, just last night,” Suga continues, and Namjoon blinks.

 

Namjoon almost wants to ask what they did to the kid, but it’s like a part of him is somehow blocking out his own voice. And he realizes he’s actually kind of...scared to wonder what’s happened. Was he beaten? Or interrogated? Or...killed? The thought of each possibility has Namjoon’s stomach churning, and he swallows.

 

“He killed himself when we got to him,” Suga finishes, and Namjoon feels sort of. Blank.

 

“Ah,” Namjoon nods, and he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to say. He’s never seen the guy’s face, doesn’t even know his name, but a part of him feels...winded, to hear he’s dead. 

 

Namjoon peers down at Suga’s hands to see them curled into fists, knuckles turning a little white, and Namjoon rests his palm over both his hands. He’s not sure what exactly it is that’s bothering Suga, but it’s  _ something _ , and Namjoon wishes he could just --  _ will away _ his frustration.

 

“I’ve been thinking a lot, and I’m just...worried,” Suga admits, peering over at Namjoon. And then his voice levels out into a whisper, brows furrowing. “I don’t want anything happening to you again.”

 

Namjoon feels his heart twist at that, because Suga’s concerned over _ Namjoon _ , when it’s literally his own life that he should be worried about. Namjoon isn't even the target of interest to anyone; it’s  _ Suga  _ that they’d want to take on. And yet, here Suga is, telling Namjoon he’s worried for  _ him _ .

 

“I don’t want  _ you _ to get hurt,” Namjoon says back, as soothing as he can possibly be. He realizes that Suga must be beating himself up again over getting Namjoon shot, which is totally Not Okay™ (because this --  _ isn’t -- Suga’s -- fault _ ). Namjoon tries to think of what Hoseok tells him when Namjoon’s being particularly self-critical, tries to think of something comforting. “Thank you for caring,” he says, swallowing. “Don’t beat yourself up over this, okay? You probably can’t protect me from everything, but the fact that you  _ care _ is... _ more _ than enough.”

 

Suga blinks at Namjoon, eyes widening a little, and if Namjoon listens closely, he can hear his breathing, slow and paced. Suga nods, and Namjoon feels his fists relaxing beneath his palms. And then he’s leaning forward, but Namjoon recognizes a change of intent from the last time he’d leaned into Namjoon’s space, and he closes his eyes as Suga leans his forehead against Namjoon’s. 

 

They stay close like that for a few silent, precious minutes, Namjoon revelling in the intimacy. It feels a little like when Namjoon had held Hoseok after he’d had a really terrible break up -- the comfort is familiar, but the affection is different, and Namjoon doesn’t think he’s felt like this. Ever.

 

“Thank you,” Suga breathes out after a while, and his breath is a little cold against Namjoon’s skin; Namjoon likes the sharp scent of mint that comes with it. “I’m sorry,” he adds, and Namjoon sighs.

 

“Hey, stop saying sorry, or I’m gonna kick your ass,” Namjoon says in jest, smiling a little as he opens his eyes.

 

Suga snorts, opening his own eyes. “Kick my ass, huh? With that arm? You’re still a cripple,” he says flatly, and Namjoon laughs. And then Suga looks down from Namjoon’s eyes, gaze travelling down his face, and Namjoon realizes that he must be...looking at his lips.

 

Namjoon flushes, swallowing as he notices just how close they are, and he almost yelps when Suga shifts. Except, all Suga does is bump his nose against Namjoon’s, before sitting back upright in his seat, and Namjoon swallows, because -- was that --  _ on purpose _ ? Was that a -- a  _ thing _ ? 

 

Suga doesn’t say anything about it, though, just adjusts in his seat. He’s smiling at Namjoon, his soft, pearl bright grin, and Namjoon tries to smile back, but he’s half sure his lips are shaking as he does (he’s -- he’s  _ nervous _ , okay? Because Suga’s smile is pure  _ gold _ ).

 

There’s the sound of a phone ringing, and Suga’s smile dissipates as he blinks away, looking down at his pocket. He fishes his phone out, eyelids lowering as he glower at his screen. He looks back up at Namjoon, expression apologetic.

 

“I have to leave,” Suga says, standing, and Namjoon sees him tighten his grip on his phone.

 

A part of Namjoon feels disappointed, because a) they just had a moment, and b) they’re hardly started on the new piece -- but Namjoon isn’t  _ upset _ . Suga has a life, and Namjoon isn’t going to mess with that (although, sometimes, he feels like he already has).

 

“Okay,” Namjoon nods, blinking. “Um, I’ll see you soon?” he adds, unable to stop himself from being hopeful (and selfish, god, he’s such an  _ ass _ ).

 

Suga smiles, and he’s practically glowing (and Namjoon is practically crying). “Tomorrow,” he says, holding his phone up to his ear. Namjoon jumps as he feels Suga’s hand move over his, cool, calloused. Suga squeezes his hand once, and Namjoon squeezes back, before he pulls away. “Get some rest tonight,” Suga says, soft.

 

Namjoon blinks. “Oh, uh, sure,” he says (Suga must be referring to Namjoon staying up late doing homework or writing). “I’ll, um, see you tomorrow,” he says, closing his notebook, looking up at Suga with a smile.

 

“See you tomorrow,” Suga echoes, before stepping toward the door. “Goodnight, Namjoon,” he says, before closing the door gently, like he always does.

 

Namjoon feels warm, at ease, knowing that Suga’s walked away feeling a little happier. Namjoon would gladly do anything to lighten the load on his shoulders; he must be so  _ stressed _ and  _ frustrated  _ all the time (Namjoon doesn’t even want to know just how late  _ he _ stays up every night).

 

Once Suga’s footsteps have faded, the only noise filling the room Namjoon’s heart beat monitor, Namjoon sighs, sinking back into his bed. He glances down at his notebook, Suga’s advice of  _ Get some rest tonight _ ringing in his ears -- but he decides working just a little more on their newest song couldn’t hurt  _ that _ much. And this way, the next time Suga visits, Namjoon will actually have something new to show him.

 

So Namjoon writes and writes and writes, and his pen doesn’t drop until the clock ticks down to three in the morning.

 

\--

 

Suga is back the next day -- although, he’s back during the  _ morning _ , when Namjoon blinks his eyes open, looking very peeved with the person Namjoon recognizes is his doctor. Namjoon gazes up at Suga, zoning in on his mint hair as his voice fills his ears.

 

“I have a private doctor; he’s going to be in safe hands,” Suga is saying, sounding terse.

 

Namjoon hears a sigh from the doctor. “I understand that. I’m just concerned over how much he’s going to exert himself; any activity might cause -- ” 

 

“He’s  _ not _ going to hurt himself,” Suga bites out aggressively, almost like he’s offended by the doctor’s words. And then Suga sighs, soft. “I’ll make sure he’s alright, I  _ promise _ .”

 

Namjoon doesn’t exactly remember the rest of the conversation, but he does recall Suga tapping him on the shoulder, gently coaxing him awake with a few whispers. And then Namjoon is pretty sure he gets moved outside, and by the time he realizes he’s in someone’s really expensive car (Namjoon could tell by the leather, okay? No  _ way _ a normal car would feel so nice), they’re already pulled up in front of his apartment complex, and fuck --  _ fuck _ , sunlight; it’s  _ everywhere _ \--

 

Suga helps Namjoon to the elevator (grumbling about how Hoseok wouldn’t answer his cellphone the whole way up), an arm around his waist, and if Namjoon had been coherent, he would have apologized, because Suga is definitely not as tall as Namjoon (Suga’s not  _ weak _ , though, obviously, because he can carry Namjoon’s tall, half awake ass all the way up to his flat).

 

They’ve stopped in front of a door, and Namjoon doesn’t realize it’s actually  _ his _ door until it swings open, Hoseok’s voice mumbling something as he feels himself being laid onto what must be the couch. Hoseok sounds a little confused, asking Suga a bunch of questions that Namjoon doesn’t really catch (all Namjoon really hears is the occasional syllable or two). Suga responds with single word answers (Namjoon doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s rolling his eyes), and the last thing Namjoon remembers of Suga is him murmuring right in his ear, “You’re home now,” before his kisses his cheek and adds, “Take care; I’ll be back when I can, alright?”

 

Which is all a shame, because Namjoon is just beginning to grasp consciousness right when the he hears the front door closing. He rubs at his eyes, yawning as he blinks up at Hoseok, who’s currently covering his mouth in an attempt to hold back...laughter?

 

“Thank fucking  _ god _ , I thought I was going to  _ die _ ,” comes a voice that definitely isn’t Hoseok’s, and Namjoon quickly recognizes it as Taehyung’s.

 

“Suga wouldn’t have killed you for seeing you here; he’d probably just glare at you and then be on his way,” Hoseok says, moving to kneel at the side of the couch, right beside Namjoon.

 

“Well, yeah, but I’m completely na -- ” Taehyung starts, and when Namjoon leans his head back against the couch, he stops. Taehyung is looking down at Namjoon, perched on one of the arms of the couch, and he’s smiling almost nervously. “Morning, Namjoon.”

 

“Uh, m...orning?” Namjoon blinks, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again (because how fucking  _ early _ is it, god, Namjoon feels like he’s had his soul sucked out). “Why are you…” he trails off, glancing over at Hoseok, who’s grinning brightly, and back to Taehyung, squinting, because  _ are they really  _ \-- “...both na...ked…” he trails off, feeling his face heat up at an alarmingly fast rate, because god,  _ fuck _ \--  _ what the -- what the fuck -- _

 

“Uh. Yeah. About that. Be right back -- ” Taehyung says meekly, before darting out of sight, and Namjoon honestly doesn’t even want to know (even though...he has a pretty good idea...of what’s going on...or  _ has _ been going on). 

 

“For the record, I’m not a hundred percent naked; I’ve got a towel around my waist -- ” Hoseok pipes up at his right, and Namjoon smacks his shoulder with the back of his hand, giving him a very unamused glower.

 

“You’re naked, Hobi,” Namjoon deadpans, keeping his eyes level with Hoseok’s (no need to look any lower).

 

“And your face is super pink,” Hoseok says back, poking Namjoon’s nose. Namjoon just rolls his eyes; he’s not a prude. He was just...caught off guard. Namjoon blinks, stretching his arms out as he sits up.

 

“Uh, by the way, what am I doing...here?” Namjoon yawns, running a hand through his hair. He glances over at the coffee table, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he catches sight of his phone and a change of clothes (he’s not in a hospital gown, though, so did someone...change his clothes...overnight...?).

 

“Suga said he got you out early, or something like that,” Hoseok shrugs, rising to his feet. And then he folds his arms, squinting down at Namjoon. “And I may be thrilled as hell to have you back at home, but you're absolutely  _ not _ doing  _ anything _ for the next week. At all. Don't want you hurting yourself.” And Namjoon frowns, because that's? Not an option? Namjoon’s already missed way too many classes; he can't miss any  _ more _ . 

 

Namjoon rolls his eyes, swinging his legs over the couch. “I'll be fine, Hobi, I won't die from going to classes,” he says, reaching for his phone, but Hoseok blocks him.

 

“Nope. I don't care if you got early release, you're gonna be resting until I say so,” Hoseok smiles triumphantly, standing up straighter, and Namjoon splutters.

 

“Hobi, I  _ need _ to catch up on classwork, and -- fuck, I need to start getting my shifts on for work -- ” Namjoon says exasperatedly. He doesn't even want to think of how many hours he's missed for work (probably enough to kill him -- god, he’s so  _ broke _ ).

 

“ _ Nope _ ,” Hoseok repeats firmly, before grabbing for a blanket and lowering it over Namjoon, as if he thinks it will silence him and all his complaints.

 

Namjoon groans, because this is  _ dumb _ . All Namjoon needs to do is go to classes and get work done; he isn't going to  _ die _ . Yeah, his shoulder still hurts, but it's not _ as _ bothersome anymore (plus, painkillers). If Namjoon can work,  _ he's going to work _ .

 

“What's the point of early release, then, if I'm still not gonna be doing anything?” Namjoon mumbles crossly, lowering himself back onto the couch with resignation. At least here, Namjoon can see Hoseok all the time, and he's going to have his laptop and actual blankets (it was fucking  _ freezing _ at the hospital, like holy  _ shit _ , Namjoon felt like he was stuck in an ice box).

 

Hoseok shrugs. “More cupcakes?” he says, and well -- that  _ is _ a plus, but hey -- Namjoon’s trying to be serious. Hoseok seems to take notice of his silence (and also his glare), and he laughs, ruffling Namjoon’s bangs. “Well, I mean, you could always ask Suga. He said something about wanting you to be more comfortable, and also that he wanted you to be happy. I thought it was kind of cute,” he says, thoughtful. “And he kissed you; that was so sweet.” 

 

Namjoon suddenly remembers Suga's lips on his skin, so close to his, and he flushes. And then he blinks, because, wow, Suga wanted Namjoon out of the hospital just so he could be more comfortable. That’s... _ sweet _ . 

 

And then there are footsteps, and Hoseok looks up. Namjoon doesn't miss the soft glow Hoseok gets in his eye, and Namjoon knows he must be looking at Taehyung. 

 

“Wanna eat, Taetae?” Hoseok is saying, and when Namjoon turns his head, he sees Taehyung (he’s clothed now, thank god) making his way over to Hoseok.

 

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Taehyung says, and when he reaches Hoseok, leans into his space to give him a soft kiss on the lips. Namjoon wonders if he should look away, give them some privacy, but some part of him is actually...kind of curious, and he can’t help but watch.

 

Because Namjoon doesn’t know what it feels like to bump noses with someone after a kiss. He doesn’t know what it’s like to run your fingers through someone’s hair slow and careful, to crowd someone’s space just to whisper some sweet nothing in their ear. Seeing Hoseok and Taehyung hold each other, Namjoon gets a feeling of sudden clarity, and he realizes he kind of...wants that. Except, with two people. Which is terrible and selfish and dumb, and if Namjoon had the strength he’d punch himself in the jaw.

 

“What are you in the mood for? Expensive asian food? Expensive Italian food? Expensive -- ” Taehyung asks breezily, leaning his chin onto Hoseok’s shoulder.

 

“Food, Taetae, I just want food,” Hoseok laughs, and then he pecks a quick kiss to Taehyung’s cheek. “And I want you,” he says, and Taehyung laughs back at him. Namjoon stares, because that’s -- fucking --  _ cute _ \--  _ fuck _ (Namjoon isn’t blushing, though,  _ he isn’t _ ).

 

Hoseok catches Namjoon’s stare, smiling down at Namjoon like he knows exactly what he’s thinking (he honestly probably does), but all he asks is, “What do you wanna eat, Joon?” 

 

“Uh,” Namjoon blinks, feeling a little flustered, because he’s...not impeding on what Hoseok and Taehyung are doing, right? “Something warm?” he says, immediately feeling stupid, because that doesn’t exactly narrow down their choices.

 

Hoseok laughs, and Namjoon half-expects him to announce he’s going to order seafood for dinner. “I’ll make you cream of wheat, then,” he says, before nudging Taehyung with his nose. “You want something else?”

 

“Can I share with you?” Taehyung says, yawning a little. “You pick whatever you want.”

 

“Sure, babe,” Hoseok says, kissing at his cheek again, before beginning to walk toward the kitchen (he’s going to make dinner naked, apparently). “I’ll start making dinner, you two can relax for a little,” he says over his shoulder. Namjoon shifts on the couch, and right as he’s about to roll off and grab his phone, he hears Hoseok saying loudly from the kitchen, “And Taetae, make sure Namjoon doesn’t do anything. And when I say anything, I mean  _ anything _ .”

 

“Gotcha, babe,” Taehyung says back, dropping down onto one of the living room chairs. He eyes Namjoon with a sort of  _ I’m watching your every move _ kind of look, and Namjoon grumbles irritatedly into his blankets. God; does Hoseok think Namjoon is going to spontaneously combust if he so much as takes one step on his own? It’s happened  _ once _ in AP chem, but that was because he was running on two to three hours of sleep a night. Namjoon is perfectly well-rested and healthy now; he’ll be  _ fine _ .

 

\--

 

Namjoon entertains Hoseok’s incessant mothering for a few days, sleeping, eating, doing other basic humanly activities.

 

At least now he has something to do other than just sleep or talk or write. Hoseok is wary to let him walk around if they’re not in the same room, but with great persistence (it’s definitely  _ not _ whining), Namjoon is finally able to convince to let him at least move from room to room by himself. 

 

Suga keeps him company via text, unable to visit Namjoon due to his schedule. He makes sure to ask how Namjoon’s doing, if his shoulder’s okay or if he’s having nightmares (did Taehyung tell Suga about those?). There’s a doctor that swings by after breakfast, every day, checking Namjoon’s shoulder and asking a whole bunch of medical-related questions. Hoseok explains to him that he’s a private doctor hired by Suga, and Namjoon meekly wonders how he should repay Suga, because, _ wow _ , that’s sweet.

 

Four days in, though, Namjoon sees an opportunity, and hell  _ yeah _ he’s gonna fucking take it, because it’s been  _ four days _ . And one class couldn’t hurt, right? 

 

It’s after Hoseok has left to refill Namjoon’s prescription and to pick up groceries that Namjoon gathers up his stuff for music class and books it the fuck out of the flat. He decides to take the bus to class instead of his car, feeling just the slightest bit off, probably thanks to his painkillers.

 

The whole ride he’s thumbing through his notebook (and also kind of guilting over sneaking out; if Hoseok finds out he’s gone, he’s  _ toast _ ), reading over the seven new pieces he’s refined with Suga, and the last two he’s touched up on with Jackson. As he turns from one piece to another, he finds himself smiling, laughing a little, because it’s actually kind of hilarious to see how different Jackson’s pieces are from Suga’s. The contrast is so apparent; it’s like comparing something hot and cold. 

 

His class is more than a little surprised to see his face, and he’s greeted with wide eyes and whispers when he ambles in, just a couple of minutes before class starts. He kind of just ducks his head, smiling a little shyly, flustered as he makes his way over to his seat, because it’s kind of weird to attract so much attention that isn’t from his instructor. 

 

“Hey, good to see you back; thought you were dead,” a familiar voice chirps from behind, and when Namjoon peers over his shoulder, he finds  giving him a thumbs up.

 

“S’what happened?” Krystal, sitting to Amber‘s right asks, blinking curiously and chewing on what must be gum. 

 

Namjoon swallows, smiling weakly. Is he...supposed to just tell them he got his shoulder shot by a member of a gang who’d attempted to murder the person Namjoon was trying to (and later successfully) confess to? Probably not.

 

“Uh, hurt my shoulder,” Namjoon responds vaguely, wincing as he adjusts in his seat. The patch over his shoulder isn’t bloody, or anything, but Namjoon isn’t super interested in strutting his injury if it means more people are gonna ask questions (and Namjoon isn’t one hundred percent interested in just letting everyone know he was shot in the shoulder).

 

Thankfully, the answer seems to sate both Amber and Krystal’s curiosity, and they don’t ask anything else other than if he’s doing okay now. Namjoon catches a couple other guys mumbling about Namjoon amongst themselves, his name floating around in the air as they whisper to one another, but other than that, class pretty much goes back to normal. 

 

When their teacher arrives, he looks at Namjoon with raised brows. He seems to understand that Namjoon was off for a reason, though, and doesn’t point his presence out to the class (not like he needs to; everyone seems to know he’s back already). 

 

“Class felt different without you,” his instructor tells him, when Namjoon approaches him halfway into class, when everyone’s writing or practicing new pieces. Namjoon smiles, scratching at his neck in embarrassment. The praise isn’t new, but it’s always unexpected. And then his instructor glances over at Namjoon’s notebook. “Your grade’s also looking a little incomplete. You got some work done?”

 

“A ‘little incomplete’ is sort of an understatement, haha,” Namjoon says, and he opens up to the first polished piece. He smiles down at Jackson’s violet ink before holding his notebook out. “I think I’m caught up with everything, though. This is the first piece.”

 

His instructor gives a proud smile as he takes Namjoon’s notebook, and literally the second he looks down to start looking it over, Namjoon hears the door being slammed open.

 

“ _ Kim Namjoon _ ,” comes Hoseok’s voice, stern and definitely not in his usual cheery, upbeat tone. Namjoon holds his breath, slowly turning around to face Hoseok, who’s pointing right at him.  _ So much for one class, _ Namjoon sighs inwardly.

 

“I leave for barely a  _ whole hour _ , and I come back to find an empty apartment with no trace of you except for those five composition pieces scattered across the floor!” Hoseok cries, throwing his hands up in the air (fuck; did Namjoon really drop  _ five _ pieces on his way out? He was in a hurry, but he didn’t think he was in  _ that _ much of a hurry).

 

“I’m grounding you. And don’t even  _ think _ about being able to go near the front door for the next three days of your life, because  _ I swear to god _ ,” Hoseok says, folding his arms, and okay, wait -- what?

 

“Hobi, what the -- I’m  _ twenty two _ , you can’t ground me,” Namjoon says, disbelieving. Does Hoseok think he’s Namjoon’s second mother (that’s a spot Jinyoung occupies already)?

 

“And I’m six months older than you, now get your stuff; I’m taking you home  _ right now _ ,” Hoseok says, motioning for Namjoon to come over, and Namjoon turns back to his instructor helplessly. 

 

His instructor shrugs, before glancing at Hoseok past Namjoon. “Do you have a note to take him home?” he asks, and Namjoon whips around, praying that Hoseok is paperless, except --

 

“Yes,” Hoseok smiles victoriously, beginning to wave around a pink slip of paper. “It says here that  _ you _ , Kim Namjoon, should be  _ resting _ ,” he says, narrowing his eyes at Namjoon. Namjoon groans, kind of wishing he could just die right there, because he can feel literally every head in the room turning to look at him.

 

“ _ Okay _ , I’m going, I’m going,” Namjoon says quickly, taking his notebook from his instructor and stuffing it into his laptop bag. His instructor nods understandingly (but  _ why couldn’t he have let Namjoon stay _ ), and Namjoon smiles apologetically before turning and hastily crossing the room. He tries his best to ignore all the staring, keeping his chin low, and the second he closes the door behind him, Hoseok is already dragging him by the collar of his shirt, and um, wait a second --

 

“ _ Fuck _ \-- Hobi, my shoulder,  _ my shoulder _ \-- ” Namjoon hisses, doing his best to keep up with Hoseok’s speed walking and ignore the sudden soreness in his shoulder.

 

Hoseok just gives Namjoon a bright grin, almost like he’s pleased with himself. “I know; how funny! Shouldn’t it be healing right now?” he says with a strained laugh, and -- ugh.

 

“My shoulder is  _ fine _ ,” Namjoon protests, but Hoseok only walks faster, and even though Namjoon’s taller than him, he’s kind of in serious pain at the moment. 

 

Hoseok doesn’t let Namjoon off even when they get to the car though, practically biting his ear off while he lectures Namjoon on  _ excessive _ stress and  _ the doctor said this _ and  _ do you know how close I came to panicking when I saw you weren’t home? _ . Namjoon just keeps his eyes closed the whole ride back home, only letting about fifteen percent of what Hoseok blabbers on about into his head. 

 

When they’re out of the car, making their way up to their flat, Hoseok  _ still  _ isn’t finished. Namjoon is tempted to tell Hoseok to calm down when they step out of the elevator, worried that they might incite noise complaints from their neighbors, but decides against it when he sees the look of desperation on Hoseok’s face.

 

But once they’re both inside their apartment, Namjoon’s pretty sure that enough is enough.

 

“ _ Hobi _ ,” Namjoon groans, shoving his palm against his forehead, and amazingly, Hoseok pauses, looking over at him. “Hobi,  _ I got it.  _ I’m sorry for going out,” he says, exhaling softly. Hoseok’s shoulders relax, like he’s finally calming down, but the second Namjoon sees him opening his mouth again to say something, he cuts in quick. “But I  _ swear to god _ , if you don’t let me have  _ some _ freedom, I’m going to jump out that window to escape _. _ ”

 

Hoseok pulls his mouth into a thin line, obviously disapproving, but by some miracle, he doesn’t instantly deny Namjoon of his request. 

 

“...Fine,” Hoseok finally sighs, arms folded, and before Namjoon can even blink, adds, “But only  _ one _ class;  _ one _ . And only after you get one more day of rest, because you were supposed to have a  _ full week  _ of recovery. Got it?” 

 

“You know it,” Namjoon grins, standing up a little straighter. But if Namjoon’s being totally honest, he’d probably sneak out even if Hoseok said no, because  _ hey _ , classes -- they’re important.

 

The one day of recovery is made better when Hoseok decides to bring back an entire box of cupcakes, which is apparently just his way of saying, “Please don’t fucking leave; there are cupcakes here for you to eat.” The doctor seems to be alright with Namjoon being up and about, and when Hoseok asks, he tells Namjoon he only needs to ensure he doesn’t run or exhaust himself in any way (and then, of course, not to put any strain on his wounded shoulder).

 

Namjoon makes sure to point out to Hoseok that  _ yeah _ , he  _ can _ leave and do stuff. Hoseok just shrugs, stuffing his face with a lemon-berry cupcake.

 

His class doesn’t have the same reaction when he makes his second return, and thankfully, all he really gets is a bunch of amused stares and thumbs ups. Amber just gives him a quick pat on the back when he takes a seat, and Namjoon shoots her a grateful smile.

 

After class hits the halfway mark, Namjoon almost leaps across the room to his teacher, because who knows if Hoseok is gonna burst in on him like last class. 

 

“Are you sure you’re allowed to be here?” his instructor says jokingly, and Namjoon gives a very half-hearted laugh. He passes his notebook, all neatly tabbed for convenience (and he made sure he had those composition pieces), and he watches as his instructor reads through his work.

 

And apparently, Namjoon and Jackson and Suga have all done fucking great, because his teacher is more impressed than he usually is. 

 

“You have very talented friends collaborating with you,” his instructor says, handing Namjoon back his notebook, and Namjoon can see him entering in all one hundred percents for his grades (there go those zeros,  _ hell yes _ ). 

 

“Uh, yeah, yeah. They’re the best,” Namjoon says, feeling a little flushed. He leaves out the whole  _ I really like both of them, and both of them really like me, so hey, we write well _ part, swallowing. 

 

“Hm. Do they work together on anything?” his instructor frowns, sounding interested, and  _ hah _ .  _ Ha ha. _

 

“No,” Namjoon admits sheepishly, glancing down at his notebook. “I wish they were friends, though; life would be so much easier,” he blurts out, and before he can fly into a panic, he realizes that his instructor doesn’t know anything about the whole thing with him, Jackson, and Suga. 

 

“Well, that’s a shame,” his instructor sighs, and he almost sounds...amused? He turns in his seat to face Namjoon, pointing at his notebook. “I’m sure they’d get along real... _ interestingly _ ,” he says, and Namjoon smiles.

 

“I bet,” Namjoon laughs lightly, holding his notebook a little tighter. He wonders how Jackson and Suga  _ actually  _ get along; he’s almost certain they were... _ civil _ those couple of times together  _ only _ because of Namjoon. Optimistic Namjoon hopes that’s not the case; that they at  _ least _ can look at each other in the eye without thinking of anything even remotely related to murder, but Realistic Namjoon knows that’s...probably  _ exactly _ what they think of every time they’re even within the other’s  _ vicinity _ . But hey -- optimism!

 

When Namjoon’s back in his seat, and class is reaching its end, his instructor starts going over the next assignment. Which, surprisingly, isn’t just another piece of music.

 

“This coming Sunday, there’s going to be a music festival at Village Park. Instead of having you start up on anything new, I’d like for you to just attend the festival for at least three hours,” his instructor says, writing the address and time up on the whiteboard (right beneath a couple of random lines of lyrics scrawled in green marker). When he fits the cap back on his marker, he turns back to the class. “Since it’s a free to attend event, just go watch some performances and drop by the different stalls. All you need to do afterward is write a two page report on the stuff you saw.”

 

“Is the food free?” someone from the corner of the room shouts, and the class ripples with agreement, nodding and murmuring to themselves.

 

“No. You’ll need to bring money,” his instructor says, rolling his eyes, and the class erupts with quiet moans of disapproval, and Namjoon almost laughs out loud when he hears someone mutter “I’m fucking broke, though” (because  _ same _ ). His instructor glares, before sighing, “Bring a friend if you’re broke; make them pay for everything.”

 

Namjoon blinks, and his first thought is  _ Well, fuck _ , because he probably won’t be able to go with either Jackson or Suga. He can’t go with Jackson, because of his probation, and he can’t go with Suga, because his schedule is booked for the whole week (he’d texted Namjoon this morning, telling him about a string of meetings for the weekend). Honestly, if Namjoon could, he’d go with  _ both  _ of them, but that whole experience might end with first degree murder (or maybe Namjoon could somehow get them to get along?).

 

So of course, Namjoon asks Hobi for a green light first thing when he gets home, tossing his bag onto his bed and throwing himself onto the couch.

 

“I  _ guess _ ,” Hoseok says with a pained sigh, tipping his glass of water back for a sip. Namjoon beams, and he wonders if Hoseok is gonna agree to go with him, when Hoseok sets his glass down onto the counter. “But, sadly, I’m gonna have to say no to going with you. I got another showcase on Sunday.” and Namjoon pouts, because -- fuck. 

 

“You can ask Jinyoung, though; maybe he’s free,” Hoseok yawns, pulling his phone out, beginning to text who Namjoon presumes to be Taehyung.

 

“Yeah, definitely,” Namjoon says, leaning back into the couch cushions. It feels like it’s been awhile since he’s done anything with Jinyoung; it’d be nice to hang out with him just for fun (it might be for an assignment, but it’s a  _ music festival _ , and both Jinyoung and Namjoon have high levels of appreciation for the arts). “Can I go see him in person? Like, at work? As in...leave…? And see him…?” he asks carefully, so as to avoid provoking Hoseok’s wrath.

 

Namjoon looks back over his shoulder again to see Hoseok pinning him with a look of scrutiny, and after a second, Hoseok finally shrugs. “You’re lucky I love you.  _ But _ \-- you have to wait until Saturday. Finish off your week of recovery, and  _ then _ you can fly free,” he says, before flicking his bangs out of his eyes and continuing with his textual conversation.

 

“Love you, too, Hobi,” Namjoon says, grinning cheekily, and Hoseok just waves a dismissive hand in his direction. 

 

_ Two more days _ , Namjoon cheers to himself, as he rests his head back against the couch. He’s excited to go to the festival, but a part of him still wishes he could take Suga and Jackson with him, too. Even if it meant possibly starting World War Three. And then their  _ gangs _ would get into it, and uh, maybe that’s...not the best idea then. 

 

As Namjoon presses closer to the corner of his couch, he wonders what a normal conversation would look like between Jackson and Suga, and if Namjoon would be able to get them to be ‘normal’ around each other at all.

 

\--

 

The first thing Jinyoung does when Namjoon steps in, is, surprisingly,  _ not _ scream at him, or even shoot him down with any looks reading  _ You bastard, you’ve been making me consider going into retirement for the past two weeks; get your shit together  _ (which is slightly disappointing, because a) Namjoon deserves it, and b) Namjoon had kind of prepared himself for the Wrath of Jinyoung).

 

Instead, Jinyoung gives him a tired -- no, an  _ exhausted _ , smile, waving weakly from behind the counter. He looks positively drained, and Namjoon’s worried he’s going to pass out right then and there. 

 

“Hey, Namjoon. Glad to see you’re okay,” Jinyoung says, as Namjoon steps into the cafe, and woah,  _ fuck _ \-- he sounds like he’s  _ wasted _ ; fatigue rounding out the edges of his words and sounding much too rugged to really be Jinyoung (it kind of reminds Namjoon of Jinyoung when he studies for finals, but it’s not finals week, so?).

 

“Evening,” Jaebum, who’s standing up straight, adjacent to the counter, chirps. He, on the flipside, looks downright  _ elated _ , face brightening with a vivid smile and healthy flush of pink. Obviously, Namjoon has just missed out on something groundbreaking(?).

 

“Hey. Nice to see you, too,” Namjoon nods in their direction, strolling up to the counter. And now that he’s so close, he can see how colorless Jinyoung’s face is, decorated with two, dark half moons below his eyes. “And, uh, I know  _ I’m _ the one recovering from a bullet wound, but  _ Jesus _ , Jinyoung; you look like you’ve just contracted mono,” he says, pursing his lips.

 

Jinyoung opens his mouth, but says nothing, and instead hangs his head, as if he’s been defeated (Namjoon wasn’t even trying to insult him, though?). Jaebum reaches out to give a light squeeze to Jinyoung’s shoulder, mouthing a quiet,  _ There, there _ .

 

“I would’ve  _ rather _ contracted mono, honestly,” Jinyoung mumbles, brushing Jaebum’s hand away and standing back upright, and before Namjoon can ask what’s wrong, he sighs, “Is there anything I can get you?”

 

“Uh,” Namjoon blinks. Is coffee okay to have while you take painkillers? Like, Namjoon isn’t taking enough to drug him out completely, but still. And also, he never buys anything from Starbucks (despite working at one), and the last time he was even  _ at _ a Starbucks for reasons unrelated to work was when...he was moping...and being stupid over Jackson and Suga. “Water?” Namjoon shrugs. 

 

Jinyoung blinks twice, like he doesn’t believe what he’s just heard, but he nods anyways, fumbling with a plastic cup and moving over to the back.

 

“Hey. It’s easy to get, and it’s also free,” Namjoon says pointedly. Jinyoung just snorts, filling up his water.

 

“Don’t mind him, he’s only off because of -- ” Jaebum starts, but is immediately cut off by Jinyoung.

 

“Do  _ not _ ,” Jinyoung deadpans, whirling around on heel (Namjoon’ surprised he doesn't splash water everywhere) to give Jaebum a glare that could kill a bed full of fresh flowers. And then he sighs, sliding Namjoon his water over the counter. “I’m just -- tired,” he says, voice hollow. “I don’t wanna think about anything right now. Sorry.”

 

Namjoon raises his water cup off the counter, taking a quick sip. “No, no, it’s cool. ‘M not gonna stop you from being ticked off,” he says reassuringly.

 

Jinyoung’s mouth curves upward into a half-smile, like he’s silently thanking Namjoon, but it fades as soon as Jaebum starts up again.

 

“Okay, but  _ seriously _ ; Jinyoung’s been -- ” Jaebum says eagerly, but, yet again, is verbally shoved aside by Jinyoung himself.

 

“ _ JB _ , I  _ swear to fucking god _ , if you don't shut the fuck up, I’m going to jump over this fucking counter and rip your cashmere-holic-whatever-the-fuck-you’re-wearing cardigan to fucking pieces and burn it in the fires of hell,” Jinyoung bites out at Jaebum, clearly distressed at the thought of whatever Jaebum wants to discuss. Jaebum seems to really value the state of his cardigan, though, because he backs down, rolling his eyes but keeping his mouth shut.

 

Jinyoung turns back to Namjoon, and his smile would be soothing if Jinyoung didn’t have that look of death in his eyes. “But enough about me,” he side-eyes Jaebum, who laughs like he hasn’t done anything wrong. “How are you? I was surprised to hear you got released early.”

 

Namjoon sniffs, taking another sip of water. “Um, I’m fine, my shoulder’s feeling a lot better. Hobi’s been keeping me in mostly, but I’ve had a couple of classes this week,” he says, wiping at his chin with his wrist. “I just wanted to say hi. Oh -- but I also wanted to ask about something for school.”

 

Jinyoung raises a brow, resting the heels of his palms against the edge of the counter. “Sure, what do you need?” he says, smiling softly.

 

“Tomorrow, there’s gonna be a music festival thing -- I was wondering if you wanted to go with me,” Namjoon says, feeling a little confident. “Um, I just need to do a write up on what I saw, and stuff. It’s free, too.”

 

Both of Jinyoung’s eyebrows shoot up at that, eyes widening a little, but he clears his throat, regaining his composure. “It’s tomorrow, you said?” he asks, and when Namjoon nods, he licks his lips. “I’m actually...busy tomorrow.” And...oh. Well. That fucking blows, Namjoon’s going to have to go alone --  “But! I’m sure someone else will go with you,” Jinyoung suddenly adds with a startling burst of enthusiasm (woah, it’s like he wasn’t tired at all two seconds ago). 

 

“Really? Who?” Jaebum snorts amusedly, sipping on something drowning in caramel and cream. And then Jaebum frowns. “Because, if you’re volunteering me just because I’ve been trying to be a good friend, I’m going to have to say I’m busy, too. Contract negotiations at my house tomorrow..”

 

Jinyoung shakes his head, glancing off to the side. “No, not you. But I have a feeling someone’ll go with you, Namjoon,” he says warmly, and Namjoon would feel flattered, but --

 

“Haha, okay, but seriously, who?” Namjoon laughs, almost telling Jinyoung that he has, like, three extremely close friends, and one of them is his pillow (Namjoon is told he sleep talks a lot, so  _ obviously _ , his pillow knows things that most others don’t). 

 

Jinyoung suddenly extends his arms, stretching. “Actually, I...dunno if they’re available tomorrow, either, so, I’ll. Give you a heads up. On that,” he says, threading his fingers together above his head, and it’s almost like he’s been completely revitalized at the sound of a music festival (even though he isn’t going…?).

 

“Um, okay. Sure,” Namjoon says, shooting a questioning glance in Jaebum’s direction, but Jaebum looks just as clueless, shrugging and shaking his head, the collar of his cardigan slipping. And that’s also the second that Namjoon catches a slight patch of...discoloration...on Jaebum’s neck. 

 

“Is that a hickey?” Namjoon blurts out, and what the  _ fuck _ , could Namjoon be any  _ less _ subtle? “Shit, uh, no, I mean -- is that -- are you -- um,” he stutters out, unable to look away from Jaebum’s neck and also unable to get his shit together.

 

Jaebum’s face promptly flushes a light, rosy shade of pink (kind of matching the hickey on his neck --  _ goddamnit Namjoon _ ), and he lowers his drink, swallowing hard. “Oh, um,” he starts, clearing his throat. “Yeah. It’s...not bothering you, is it?” he says, voice a little tight.

 

“Wow, you asshole,” Jinyoung directs at Namjoon observantly, and Namjoon would smack his glasses off if he wasn’t actually right.

 

“No! No, it’s not -- fuck, I’m sorry, I just -- ” Namjoon says, struggling to find the right words to redeem himself. “ -- didn’t know you had a boyfriend?” which is a complete fucking  _ lie _ , because Namjoon  _ definitely _ remembers Mark mentioning something about Jaebum screaming in bed, and also having a...sugar daddy...but are sugar daddies really boyfriends? Do they date whoever they’re... _ involved _ , with? God, what if Mark was just being a fuckboy and was making fun of Jaebum (which is  _ completely _ plausible, considering the fact that it’s  _ Mark _ )? Namjoon is so fucking stupid.

 

Jaebum blinks, taking an idle sip from his drink. “You know about Youngjae?”

 

“Er. N...o?” Namjoon says, and he doesn’t miss Jinyoung’s blatant and very disappointed eyeroll. But hey, Namjoon’s being honest; the name ‘Youngjae’ doesn’t ring any bells.

 

“Oh. Oh,” Jaebum’s eyes seem to soften at that, and Namjoon exhales in relief (not like Jaebum needs to know that Namjoon may have mistaken his boyfriend for a sugar daddy). “Well. I guess now you do,” he says wistfully, almost sounding nonchalant.

 

Namjoon swallows, eyes falling back to Jaebum’s neck, wondering how it would feel to get a hickey from Jackson or Suga --  _ no _ .  _ No _ . Namjoon almost punches himself, snapping back to attention. 

 

“Um, sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude,” Namjoon apologizes meekly, squeezing his eyes shut.  _ Stop thinking about hickies _ , he screams inwardly.  _ Stop thinking about Jackson and Suga. Stop thinking about them kissing your neck, maybe both at the same time, right below your jaw, slow and soft, or hard and fast, and -- god fucking damnit,  _ stop it _.  _

 

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s fine. You just took me off guard for a second,” Jaebum says, smiling a little. And then he tilts his head to the side, eyeing Namjoon curiously. “Have you...never seen a hickey before?”

 

“Wh -- n-no -- I mean,  _ yeah _ , I just -- ” Namjoon chokes, feeling light headed. He’s seen hickies on Hoseok before, a  _ lot _ more as of recent, but it’s just -- weird? To see them on other people? And also Namjoon is just dumb.

 

“Correction: he’s never  _ had _ a hickey,” Jinyoung sighs, scratching at his jaw, and Namjoon gives him a look of horror, because  _ what _ \--

 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Namjoon squawks, feeling betrayed, tempted to throw his water cup in Jinyoung’s face. Jinyoung doesn’t seem to think it’s that big a deal, though, expression remaining unchanged as he shrugs.

 

“Hm, I see,” Jaebum muses, and when Namjoon turns his head, sees him sipping from his drink and searching his face. He doesn’t seem to be checking Namjoon out, but nonetheless, Namjoon fidgets a little, feeling his ears warm. And then Jaebum takes a sip of his drink. “It feels nice,” he says, and when all Namjoon does is blink, Jaebum continues. “Hickies, I mean. Or slow neck kisses, I guess. You looked like you were curious.” and Namjoon is pretty sure his face turns absolutely red, because yeah, he was sort of imaging Suga or Jackson kissing his --  _ fuck _ \--

 

“You gonna be okay there, Namjoon?” Jinyoung asks, although he sounds more amused than concerned. 

 

“I’m fine,” Namjoon says indignantly, hands covering his face. He’s embarrassed, but it’s mostly because he can’t get the image of Jackson or Suga kissing at his neck sweetly. It probably  _ would _ feel nice, for one of them to cradle his jaw and press their lips right up against his skin, hot and cold, and -- holy  _ fuck _ Namjoon needs to cool it.

 

\--

 

It’s been a long week.

 

Or month, really, if Jackson thinks about it, because of the stuff with Namjoon and Suga, but this particular week itself has been a real fucking  _ drag _ . He’s been slammed with errand after errand after errand, running around from place to place nonstop. He already knows Youngjae’s assigning him so many things due to a mix of feeling bad that Jackson doesn’t have anything to do (thanks to his stupid fucking probation) and probably trying to make sure Jackson  _ stays _ too busy to have anything to do.

 

Which is all pretty much a wasted effort, though, because Jackson’s working stuff out just fine -- if dealing with your competition counts as fine (but hey; it’s for Namjoon, so it’s all good). But he has a couple of plans going, he just has to make a few last checks with scheduling for shifts.

 

Suga’s been keeping Jackson pretty updated on Namjoon, as per Jackson’s constant requests (it’s not  _ nagging _ , as Suga puts it. Jackson’s just concerned), and he texts him a few details about Namjoon’s recovery whenever Jackson asks. Jackson kind of wants Suga to let him facetime with Namjoon, but if whoever’s guarding Namjoon hears Jackson, he’s fucking toast.

 

And if Suga is true to his word, he’s told Namjoon about Jackson, and how he’s been trying to find a way to see him. Sadly, Jackson hasn’t been able to see Namjoon at all for the past few weeks, and less sadly, he hasn’t been able to meet up with Suga yet (apparently, both Jackson and Suga have packed schedules, but Jackson’s not really complaining for obvious reasons). He’d texted Jackson that Namjoon was out of the hospital, going to classes, so at least Jackson has updates on that stuff. He’s still wary of Suga’s motives for pulling Namjoon out of the hospital; no  _ way _ the guy wasn’t pulling a  _ I want him all for myself _ move.

 

His texting conversations with Suga are...weird? Ninety eight percent of the time, they’re texting about Namjoon, but they’re not really... _ discussing _ , Namjoon (that would be creepy). It’s basically just Suga throwing information at Jackson, and Jackson poking around for more details. 

 

Suga texts weird, too -- he’s super uptight with being formal in every stupid text, using capitalization and commas and apostrophes, and it’s just stupid (he’s worse than Jinyoung! At least  _ he’s  _ capable of using the  _ occasional _ emoji). Jackson has to remind himself he’s not texting a fucking robot whenever Suga responds to his questions. 

 

Sometimes, though, once every couple of days, Jackson’ll talk about something  _ other _ than Namjoon with Suga, but  _ only _ when Jackson’s bored out of his fucking mind. He’ll ask about gang stuff and sometimes dogs, and Suga actually responds (albeit usually half an hour after anything Jackson says). He doesn’t seem to find much humor or take any interest in the stuff Jackson has to say, most of the time responding with single word texts, but he  _ responds _ , so Jackson keeps on texting him.

 

Suga doesn’t cuss at Jackson, either (at least, not through text), nor does he cuss casually, and Jackson makes it his mission to at  _ least _ get him to tell Jackson to fuck off (because  _ that _ would prove that Suga had at least a little bit of feeling somewhere). But Suga seems dead set on keeping any emotion out of his texts, and the most irritated that Jackson sees him get is when he tells Jackson he’s  _ nagging again _ ; everything else is too difficult to read. At least face to face, Jackson can tell how much he’s ticked him off; the guy’s face turns so fucking  _ red _ .

 

Jackson’s currently lounging around on his couch,  _ finally _ catching a break from all the errands Youngjae shoved on him, and also texting Suga. It’s not the most amusing conversation (nor is it the fastest; Jackson feels like he could take a nap and not miss any of Suga’s texts), but he’s the only person replying to anything (really; if there was someone else able to text at ten at night, Jackson would  _ definitely _ be texting them instead of Suga).

 

And then his phone buzzes, after what felt like eons, and Jackson eagerly checks his phone, flipping onto his stomach. But when he reads Suga’s text, he rolls his eyes, groaning, because fucking  _ come on _ .

 

_ From ; Sugar ; 10:21 p.m. _

_ I have to go; work _

 

And Jackson might as well just go  _ die _ , because now there’s literally no one to talk to. Jinyoung’s at work, Yugyeom’s running a solo errand, Mark isn’t really someone Jackson wants to talk to at the moment, Youngjae is busy doing leader things, Zitao is still dealing with emotional shit, and Namjoon is...far away.

 

_ To ; Sugar ; 10:21 p.m. _

_ l8r  _

 

Jackson thumbs in his quick response, before deleting the thread, like he usually does after every conversation (not like there’s anything worth saving) and stuffing his face into the couch. He had just been going off about chocolate to Suga and sending him pictures of candy. Of course, it was all an attempt to tick Suga off, but also of course, it hadn’t really incited anything more than a straight up _ Chocolate gives you acne _ . 

 

Jackson’s right on the cusp of falling asleep, when his phone buzzes again. He stares at his phone for a good few seconds, because Suga  _ never _ texts him two message under ten minutes. Slowly, he turns his phone back over, and, oh -- it’s not Suga, it’s Jinyoung.

 

_ From ; Jinyoungie ; 10:26 p.m. _

_ Hey thought I’d share something with you _

 

And Jackson sits the fuck up, because? Sharing? Something? This has to be important. Jackson is quick to respond, swiping his bangs out of his eyes.

 

_ To ; Jinyoungie ; 10:26 p.m. _

_????? im here  _

 

Jackson eagerly awaits Jinyoung’s reply, and he nearly falls off the couch when he receives a response just seconds later. Jackson had almost forgotten what it was like to text a normal human being; Jinyoung is an  _ angel _ .

 

_ From ; Jinyoungie ; 10:26 p.m. _

_ It’s about Namjoon _

 

At those words, Jackson feels a burst of joy surging through his body, and his heart begins to pound at the mention of Namjoon. Jinyoung hasn’t texted him anything about Namjoon for the past week, as per Jackson’s request (he’s not too interested in being on probation with Jinyoung, and texts with him are a pretty big risk over those waters, especially with Mark periodically checking his phone). But hey, if Jinyoung’s decided to tell something about Namjoon himself, it  _ has  _ to be important. He doesn’t know how fast he gets in a reply, but it’s there, and he’s waiting again.

 

_ To ; Jinyoungie ; 10:26 p.m. _

_!!?!?!!!!!???? ok??? kool????? whatsup????? _

 

Jackson’s mind races from possibility to possibility -- Jinyoung might just be letting Jackson know Namjoon said hi or something, or he could be telling Jackson that Namjoon swung by work, or anything, and Jackson’s (literally) on the edge of his seat. He almost jumps when Jinyoung texts him back.

 

_ From ; Jinyoungie ; 10:27 p.m. _

_ So I’m sure you’ve heard about the music festival tomorrow _

 

Jackson’s heart skips a beat, and he’s pretty sure he knows what Jinyoung’s about to text him, but he types out a message anyways.

 

_ To ; Jinyoungie ; 10:27 p.m. _

_ yes i have holy fuck holy fuck whats up whatsup _

 

And Jinyoung doesn’t waste any time with his reply.

 

_ From ; Jinyoungie ; 10:27 p.m. _

_ Namjoon is going to be there _

 

_ From ; Jinyoungie ; 10:27 p.m. _

_ Alone  _

 

Jackson blinks at his phone, gawking. Of fucking  _ course _ ; meeting up with Namjoon at the music festival would be  _ perfect _ . Jackson is all about getting with Namjoon, but as he begins to plan out an escapade to see the bronze skinned barista, part of him hesitates. The festival is a pretty public thing (it’s free, too, if Jackson recalls correctly), and he could easily be caught by someone from his gang hanging around there. And then his phone buzzes.

 

_ From ; Jinyoungie ; 10:29 p.m. _

_ I really think you should go see him _

 

And that’s all the encouragement Jackson needs, because hey -- if Jinyoung says he should do it, he should do it. Jackson adjusts his position on his couch as he types out his reply.

 

_ To ; Jinyoungie ; 10:29 p.m. _

_ u rly think so??? i mean i really think so but like?? u rly rly think so????? _

 

It’s not that Jackson doesn’t believe Jinyoung (because Jinyoung never lies, like  _ ever _ ), it’s just that usually, this is the part where Jinyoung lectures Jackson about not being ‘impulsive’ or ‘rash.’ His phone buzzes, and Jackson swallows as he reads the next message.

 

_ From ; Jinyoungie ; 10:29 p.m. _

_ Yes, I really think so _

 

_ From ; Jinyoungie ; 10:29 p.m. _

_ I think he’d really love seeing you _

 

Jackson then realizes that Jinyoung didn’t mention if Namjoon knew Jackson would be going (or rather,  _ is _ going now, because there’s no way in hell Jackson is gonna pass up an opportunity to see Namjoon). Which means --

 

_ To ; Jinyoungie ; 10:30 p.m. _

_ fuck am i like gonna surprise him????? bc thatd be like the sweetest thing ever holy shti _

 

Jackson can pretty much imagine it now, jumping out to hug Namjoon (probably from the front? Because he might freak Namjoon out if he hugs from behind) and maybe showering him with kisses because  _ god _ , it’s been so fucking long since Jackson’s seen him. He wants to hold him close, intertwine their fingers and walk around aimlessly and talk about anything and everything. Or, actually, maybe Jackson shouldn’t just attack Namjoon with a hug, because that might hurt his shoulder, and that’s the last thing Jackson ever wants to do in his life.

 

And yeah, Jackson remembers saying he was gonna give Namjoon space, but like it’s been around three weeks, and Jackson can only survive for so long. Of course, he’ll check to see what Namjoon’s okay with, but by no means is Jackson gonna keep himself all chained up and restrained (because, as Jackson stated before, it’s been _three_ _weeks_ ).

 

_ From ; Jinyoungie ; 10:31 p.m. _

_ I’m sure he’d love that _

 

_ From ; Jinyoungie ; 10:31 p.m. _

_ Now please tell me you’ll be careful if you go _

 

Jackson scoffs, because --  _ what _ ? Does Jinyoung think Jackson’s  _ stupid _ ? Well, admittedly, Jackson can be kinda quick to react to stuff, but Namjoon isn’t  _ stuff _ ; Namjoon is  _ Namjoon _ , all soft smiles and pretty dimples and the smell of chocolate and everything beautiful in the world. 

 

_ To ; Jinyoungie ; 10:31 p.m. _

_ iM NOT DUMB _

 

_ To ; Jinyoungie ; 10:31 p.m. _

_ im just…...a faster thinker…….and i get hyped easy ok _

 

_ To ; Jinyoungie ; 10:32 p.m. _

_ and also yes im going who do u think i am _

 

And of course, Jinyoung’s speedy response is:

 

_ From ; Jinyoungie ; 10:32 p.m. _

_ Huh. Sure. Nerd _

 

_ From ; Jinyoungie ; 10:32 p.m. _

_ Also, I have the right to worry about you, I’m your honorary mother _

 

Jackson glares at his phone, but hey, not like Jinyoung’s wrong.

 

_ To ; Jinyoungie ; 10:32 p.m. _

_ ur lucky i havent changed ur name on my phone back to jinmom MOM _

 

_ To ; Jinyoungie ; 10:32 p.m. _

_ but thx lol yea ill be xtra careful JUST 4 U MOM _

 

And it’s then that his phone alarm goes off, and Jackson almost throws his phone at his TV. But his reflexes are more refined than that, and he’s able to keep himself seated as he reads  _ boring ass meeting @ 10:45. _

 

“Shit!” Jackson jumps from his couch, grabbing for his keys on the coffee table. Of course he’s got a meeting at  _ ten forty-five at night _ ; who was the genius that decided on  _ that _ time (probably Youngjae; oops)?

 

Jackson races out of his flat, grabbing his leather jacket off the dinner table and booking it toward his bike. Once he’s properly mounted, he fumbles with his phone, blinking down at the message thread. He types in a very hurried  _ ilu jinyoungieeee _ before starting his bike up and speeding down the street.

 

Jackson feels fucking  _ ecstatic _ the entire drive -- the mere thought of being able to see Namjoon’s smile and hear his laughter again and just to be able to touch and  _ feel _ him has his heart pounding faster and faster and  _ faster _ . He can still perfectly remember the way Namjoon’s perfect dimples bracket his perfect smile, how his eyes curve into little crescents, laughing when Jackson tells him something stupid., or when he makes a joke of his own

 

But most importantly, Jackson remembers how Namjoon made Jackson  _ feel _ ; the warmth he felt around Namjoon. All the hope and joy Namjoon gave Jackson made him feel like he could soar to the sun and back (and also not melt; that would be bad). Namjoon is just... _ perfect _ , and Jackson can barely believe he's going to see him  _ tomorrow _ . 

 

Headquarters comes into view not too long into the ride, and Jackson realizes he's been smiling ever since he’d texted Jinyoung. And he continues to smile as he pulls up near the entrance of the building. He even carries a skip in his step as he hops off of the asphalt and onto the concrete, because  _ hey _ , he's  _ happy _ .

 

“Jacks,” a familiar voice calls out, and Jackson almost trips and falls on his face. Gnawing on his tongue, he slows his pace, turning to face Mark (Jackson must have missed the sound of his bike pulling in).

 

“Heya, Mark,” he chirps, waving a little. He hasn't really talked with Mark for the past two weeks, half because he's been too occupied to say anything to him and half out of avoidance. He just...needs space. He'll be okay; he'll forgive Mark -- he just needs some time

 

Mark strides up to Jackson’s side with long steps, arms loosely hanging at his side. He looks Jackson up and down, a light smile playing across his lips. “Have a nice week?” he asks, meeting Jackson's gaze.

 

“No, not really,” Jackson says, pursing his lips. “But I'll be okay. ‘ve got a good feeling about next week,” he whistles, smiling as the image of Namjoon’s smile bubbles up in his mind (god; he's so fucking  _ gorgeous _ ).

 

Mark hums in acknowledgement, eyes hanging on Jackson for a few seconds longer, before he faces front again. Uh, was Jackson too obvious…? Jackson doesn't think he was  _ that  _ conspicuous, but then again, Mark can read Jackson’s quirks like a book he’s read twenty times over, so maybe...he should turn down the happiness meter? 

 

They make their way inside headquarters, Jackson just a step ahead of Mark. But really, he can’t help it -- all he can think about is  _ Namjoon Namjoon Namjoon _ , and if the thought of Namjoon is gonna make him want to cartwheel his way to the meeting, then so be it.

 

The only problem with Jackson being happy is that Mark can  _ definitely _ tell something’s up. Jackson can feel Mark watching him the whole walk to the elevator and to the meeting room (Jackson may or may not have been humming the whole way). Mark doesn’t say anything, but Jackson can tell he’s thinking something.

 

And then they reach the door to the conference room, but Mark stops. Jackson rests his hand on the door, waiting for Mark to catch up, and when he turns to look at him, Mark is eyeing him very suspiciously. 

 

“You seem like you’re in an awfully good mood,” Mark muses, folding his arms, and Jackson freezes (yep; he was  _ definitely _ too obvious. Fuck).

 

“I...just had a good nap?” Jackson tries for a half grin to seem convincing, but as soon as the words jump from his lips, he knows he’s pretty much fucked it up already.

 

Mark blinks once at Jackson, looking skeptical. And then he raises his palm, swallowed up by the cuff of his black sweater, and makes a ‘come hither’ motion with his fingers.

 

“Hand me your phone,” he says, and oh. Fuck.

 

“Um,” Jackson swallows, hands suddenly feeling very numb. He doesn’t move, just stares down at Mark’s hand and laughs nervously. “Yeah, um, hang on just let me -- ” he plucks his phone out of his pocket, beginning to unlock it, but Mark stops him cold.

 

“Hand me your phone,” Mark says with a honeyed smile, his voice equally sweet. 

 

Jackson tenses, finger hovering over the last key to his password. He blinks down at his phone, to Mark’s hand, weighing his consequences. He hasn’t deleted the thread with Jinyoung, and if Mark sees it, there’s no  _ way _ he’s not gonna tell Youngjae about it. Fuck; Jackson’s probably gonna be put on probation with  _ Jinyoung _ now.  _ Fuck _ .

 

“Yeah, yeah, here,” Jackson sighs, sliding his phone into Mark’s hand. Mark smiles, showing the whites of his teeth as he curls his fingers around Jackson's phone, quickly unlocking it.

 

Jackson can only watch as Mark scrolls up his conversation with Jinyoung. He sees Mark wet his lips with his tongue, shaking his head disapprovingly, and Jackson bites down on the inside of his cheek. 

 

“Really, Jacks?” Mark sighs, tilting his head back. He starts waving Jackson’s phone around, and Jackson can just barely read the latest texts from Jinyoung, reading  _ Love you, too _ , followed by  _ Idiot _ . He has to purse his lips to restrain a smile from forming. And then Mark stuffs the phone into his jacket pocket, rolling his lower lip beneath his teeth. “You’re sticking around after the meeting. We’re gonna have a talk with Youngjae,” he says, letting his arms hang back at his sides.

 

Jackson glances down at Mark’s jacket pocket, trying to figure out how to respond... _ correctly _ . Yeah, he’s pissed he’s probably gonna be put on probation with Jinyoung (which will definitely be temporary), but Jinyoung wasn’t his  _ last _ last resort. He’s still got Suga (even if the guy is impassive as shit to Jackson), meaning he’s definitely got a shot at doing stuff with Namjoon. So basically, Jackson definitely doesn’t have to listen to whatever Youngjae and Mark are gonna spit at him. But…it’s not like he can flaunt that he doesn’t care, right? Probably better to sulk and be a moody, angsty teenager over it (like Suga, haha).

 

“Great, I’m looking forward to it,” Jackson says, as flatly as he can. He’s sure to give a dramatic eye roll (perfectly convincing, if Jackson says so himself) as he turns to push the door open, making his way toward his seat without another word.

 

Jackson tunes out a majority of the meeting, partially because it’s ten at night, and Jackson just wants to fucking sleep, but mostly because he’s thinking about the more important shit in his life (and also, the meeting is so  _ fucking boring _ ; they’re talking about the same shit as the last meeting).

 

The most pressing thing on Jackson’s mind is  _ Namjoon _ , and how exactly Jackson’s gonna sneak out to the music festival. Undoubtedly, Youngjae’s gonna put him on probation with Jinyoung, so he can’t really touch base with him anymore, but there’s also the chance Youngjae’ll post people to  _ watch _ him. Which is a problem, because a) Jackson won’t be able to just waltz over to the festival and b) he doesn’t really have any way of contacting Suga until he gets his fucking phone back from Mark. He could make a quick run by Suga’s house, but Youngjae would probably have his bike trashed if he caught him standing within two feet of the guy’s  _ neighborhood _ . 

 

Jackson supposes that the longest Mark will hold onto his phone is just a day, so when he’s got his shit back, he can update Suga on his situation. He’s not worried about Suga texting him about anything, because it’s always  _ Jackson _ that starts up the conversation. Suga’s just gonna have to deal with a day free of Jackson Wang.

 

And then Jackson blinks.  _ Fuck, Jinyoung is so gonna bust my ass _ , he bemoans silently Jackson’s never been put on probation with Jinyoung, which translates into the fact that he’s never... _ not _ texted Jinyoung. And he’s also never had to apologize to Jinyoung for being MIA for a week. But hey, Jinyoung’s smart; he’ll probably figure something out (sadly, that doesn’t mean the guy isn’t gonna worry).

 

Jackson’s shaken from his thoughts when his stomach growls lowly, and when he glances up, he sees people starting to file out of the room. He turns his head to glance over at Youngjae, who’s currently leaning toward Mark to listen to whatever story Mark’s feeding him. Youngjae’s eyes flicker over to Jackson’s, and after a quick roll of his eyes, motions for him to come over. Jackson makes sure to get up as slowly as possible, and once he’s standing in front of both Mark and Youngjae, shifts his weight to one leg.

 

Youngjae takes a glimpse over at the entrance, and once there’s the sound of the double doors closing, he turns his attention to Jackson. He’s got that  _ I’m disappointed in you, so I’m going to lecture the fuck out of you _ look on his face, and Jackson has to swallow down a laugh.

 

“First off, I’m gonna say that I’m disappointed,” Youngjae exhales, reaching up with a hand to rub his temples (Jackson almost grins, because  _ ha _ \-- he totally guessed that first line right). “And also that I’m really fucking tired.”

 

Jackson glances over at Mark, and is only met with a small shrug. So Jackson shrugs, too, and thankfully, Youngjae doesn’t seem to catch the casual gesture.

 

“You know I’m going to have to put you on probation for this.  _ Again _ ,” Youngjae continues, sounding fatigued, and Jackson’s tempted to tell him he’s feeling just as tired, so they should just leave it at that and go home. “You can’t see Jinyoung. I want this to  _ stop _ , Jackson. I’ve already been lenient enough.”

 

Jackson sniffs, but remains silent. He wonders if he should say something, make it seem like he’s at least a little more than just irritated, but Youngjae goes on before Jackson can speak.

 

“I’m putting you on a day’s worth of restriction. I don’t want you going anywhere  _ near _ that music festival, got it?” Youngjae says firmly, jabbing a finger in Jackson’s direction. And then he relaxes, sighing and running his fingers through his hair. “Promise me that this is going to stop. You  _ know _ that this is bigger than just you.”

 

“Yeah. I got it,” Jackson clenches his jaw. But hey -- since when is wanting to kiss someone and make them happy considered ‘out of line?’ 

 

“ _ Promise  _ me, Jackson,” Youngjae repeats, fingers flexed into a fist. Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson can see Mark drumming his fingers against his arm, as if to tell Jackson he should hurry up, and Jackson gives a breathy sigh.

 

“I  _ promise _ ,” Jackson says through a tight smile.  _ I promise I’ll do anything to see Namjoon happy _ , is what he means to say, but Youngjae probably doesn’t want to hear that. And neither does Mark.

 

Youngjae stares long and hard at Jackson, and Jackson gets the feeling he’s trying to discern whether or not he’s being truthful. Jackson is almost tempted to offer a pinky promise, but they’re not in middle school anymore.

 

In any case, Youngjae must believe him, because he rattles off on who’s gonna watch Jackson and about the fine details of his restriction. Jackson nods every now and then, keeping eye contact, but he’s more concerned with how his stomach is still whining for food.  _ Fuck what Suga said _ , he thinks to himself as Youngjae starts off on his ‘house arrest’ rules,  _ I want chocolate; I don’t give a fuck if I get acne _ .

 

The second Youngjae lets go of him, Jackson bolts for his bike. He mumbles a lame reply to whatever Mark calls out at him, starting up his bike and heading for home (ugh; it feels so  _ weird _ to not have a phone in his pocket).

 

Already, Jackson’s starting to put together his plan to ditch whichever poor guys Youngjae’s assigned to watch him, tracing different routes in his head. It all seems to work out nicely, except for the fact that --

 

“Fuck,” Jackson curses, closing his apartment door behind him. “I don’t even know when Namjoon’s gonna be there.”

 

Jackson stands beside his door for a good few seconds, wondering what the fuck he’s gonna do, because it’s not like he can text Jinyoung and ask, and he’s not gonna ask  _ Suga _ (even if the it meant possibly waking the guy up at almost twelve at night; that would be fucking hilarious). Plus, he doesn’t even have his phone; he can’t text him, either.

 

“I’ll just be there for the whole thing, then,” Jackson resolves. It shouldn’t be that difficult; he’ll just have to bust out earlier. And also stay out longer. And run around the whole festival looking for Namjoon. No biggie. Not at all.

 

\--

 

The music festival actually looks kind of nice.

 

Well, it  _ sounds _ nice, is probably what Namjoon should say, because he can hear all the different stages mixing together and can feel the bass humming beneath his feet. It feels sort of weird to show up somewhere so public on his own, and even though he’s been to underground performances before, the atmosphere’s...different? As in, there are little kids and middle-aged moms and old people.

 

And also, Namjoon’s all dressed up sort-of nice, thanks to Hoseok. It’s not  _ terrible _ , but it isn’t something he’d typically wear -- black jeans that feel sort of tight, black shirt, black over shirt. The only legitimately  _ odd  _ thing about it was the choker. Namjoon had protested against it, but Hoseok said he’d apparently bought it for him (and because Namjoon is weak as hell, he’d caved and let him put it on him). He doesn’t really get it, though, why Hobi had bothered to dress him up -- he’s going alone, and Jinyoung hasn’t updated him on whoever he said could possibly have gone with him.

 

The wait to get in isn’t all that terrible, and once he’s past security check, he finds that, yeah, the festival is pretty nice. There are different booths scattered across the park, mostly for individual merchandise and a couple artist meet and greets (some of them are even friends from high school) surrounded by long, winding lines. A few of stands are for instrumental advertisement, and the rest of the park is occupied by food stands and people eating food (there’s even a ferris wheel off to the side; kinda cool).

 

But Namjoon swung by for the  _ music _ , not the food or the sights (although those  _ are _ nice bonuses). He finds his way over to the main stage, sinking into the surprisingly large crowd of onlookers. Apparently, whoever's performing is good enough to attract kids and adults alike, and Namjoon’s thankful he's tall enough to see the stage free of obstruction from where he's standing (although it does mean that Namjoon himself is an obstruction to other people, but it's not like Namjoon's gonna bend over to accommodate everyone under five foot eleven). 

 

The rapper is someone Namjoon doesn't find familiar, but that's not something  _ bad _ . In fact, Namjoon thinks it's nice to see someone fresh, and he can already tell they're talented. She's switching between singing and rapping her verses, and Namjoon doesn't think he can hear any pre-recorded voice in the track playing.

 

And then she wraps her stage up, pushing her sweat-slicked bangs back and thanking the crowd. Some of the crowd pulls away, smiling and probably chattering over the nameless rapper’s performance, but they're replaced with more people, probably eager to see the next performance. Namjoon wonders if he should stick around, maybe move closer to the front to get a better feel of the bass. Or maybe he should be closer to the sides, since he'll be blocking the view for all the --

 

“Namjoon,” a silken voice murmurs from behind Namjoon, followed by a finger tapping his shoulder. Namjoon shivers, more at how smoothly his name is said than the touch to his back, and his heart beats a little faster as he turns around.

 

“Suga?” Namjoon blinks. He’d recognized Suga’s voice immediately, but he's still startled to see his mint fringe and expensive looking jacket. And he’s absolutely  _ thrilled _ to see that Suga’s hear,  _ ecstatic _ \-- but hadn’t Suga told him he was...busy (with -- what, four meetings over sunday afternoon and evening?)?

 

“Hey,” Suga says, eyes flickering over Namjoon's, and Namjoon feels his throat tighten. Suga runs his tongue over his lower lip, slowly, before giving a small smile. “Enjoying yourself?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I'm just -- ” Namjoon swallows, suddenly feeling a little flushed. “ -- uh, looking around? I, uh, didn't know you’d be free today.” 

 

Suga flicks his bangs to the side. “Tae, or I guess Hoseok, told me about the festival, and I wanted to go with you,” he says, and then he clears his throat. “I, ah, wanted to. Surprise you.”

 

And Namjoon blinks, eyes widening, because? That's so fucking sweet? And even though Suga didn't explicitly confirm it, he might have  _ actually _ been busy today, but instead chose to go to the festival. Just for Namjoon.

 

“Oh, ah -- thanks,” Namjoon says quietly,  and then he laughs. “I thought I was going to be alone the whole time, haha. Thank you.”

 

Suga blinks, and he's looking at Namjoon like he’s mesmerized, his smile widening, and then he says, “You’re adorable.” And Namjoon’s brain kind of just short circuits, because --  _ because  _ \--

 

“H-huh?” Namjoon barely manages to get out, feeling his face flushing rapidly. He’s at a loss for words, and it’s like it’s just Suga and Namjoon, alone, and not like they’re surrounded on all sides by screaming toddlers and other couples holding each other, swaying to some jazz.

 

Suga opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything, and Namjoon thinks he spots a soft flush on the high points of his cheekbones as he coughs into his knuckles, glancing off to the side. 

 

And then Namjoon’s stomach growls, and he’s reminded that all he had for lunch was a bowl of cereal. He’s pretty sure he brought money with him for food, but it’s only enough for himself, and...god _ damnit _ ; Suga better not offer to buy him something to eat --

 

“I’ll buy you something to eat,” Suga says, a hand already moving around one of his jacket pockets, probably to pull his wallet out, and Namjoon silently yells at himself for not having brought more money for the both of them (this is -- what, the hundredth time Namjoon had a chance to treat out Suga, only to have  _ Suga _ treat Namjoon?).

 

“Are you sure? You know you don’t have to,” Namjoon protests weakly, and all he can do is watch as Suga pulls a few slips of paper money from his wallet. He has to clench his jaw shut to stop himself from gaping, because  _ is that really fifty bucks, what the fuck _ .

 

“I’ll get you anything you want,” Suga says, sounding absolutely serious, and then he smiles. “That stomach growl means business,” he says teasingly, and Namjoon laughs, feeling his face burn a little warmer.

 

“Um, okay, then -- ” Namjoon licks his lips, scanning the area for food. 

 

Namjoon ends up asking for some chicken wings and a water, Suga himself eating just fries, and they walk around the festival pretty aimlessly. They drop by a few stands displaying various instruments, walking and talking at a leisure place (Suga seems concerned over Namjoon’s shoulder, asking if he’s in pain more than a few times, but hey. Namjoon’s actually feeling okay for once). Suga seems partial to the classical instruments, and when they pass through the section showcasing pianos, he answers any questions Namjoon has about different brands and woods.

 

And then, somehow, once they’ve finished their food, they’re standing beneath the tent for piano lessons. Namjoon starts to turn on heel to make his exit, because, while it may be endearing to see all these kids pressing at ivory keys and sing to nursery rhymes, it also makes him feel kind of terrible to see kids succeed at something Namjoon’s always struggled with (Namjoon can make music, but he can’t really  _ play _ music). He doesn’t manage to take even a step, though, because Suga’s walking in the opposite direction, toward...an open piano.

 

Namjoon stares, debating whether or not he should ask for them to move onto the next stand, but he doesn’t get to choose, because Suga’s already gesturing for him to come over. He hastily obeys, speed-walking toward Suga, and once he’s at his side, he waits for Suga to take a seat. At least he has Suga’s playing to look forward to while he’s here.

 

Suga slides onto the seat, pushing the cover over the keys up, but his fingers hover over the keys, motionless. And then Namjoon notices that he’s left an awful lot of space on the bench, sitting closer toward the side than the middle, and then he realizes --

 

“Sit with me,” Suga hums, blinking up at Namjoon, and Namjoon just stares, because,  _ no _ , he  _ cannot _ play the piano; he’d probably break it the second he’d lay a finger on it.

 

“Um, I…” Namjoon bites at his lip nervously, glancing at the piano and then back to Suga. 

 

“Have you never played?” Suga raises a brow, voice soft and comforting, and Namjoon suppresses a shiver.

 

“Nope,” Namjoon says admittedly, scratching at his shoulder in embarrassment. “I mean, I don’t think what I’ve tried counts as  _ playing _ .”

 

Suga laughs, and Namjoon feels weak at his knees, captivated by how pretty Suga’s lips curve up into a smile and how buoyant his voice is. “I’ll teach you,” Suga says, motioning for Namjoon to sit with him again, and with a long sigh, Namjoon drops himself down next to Suga.

 

“You can  _ try _ to teach me,” Namjoon corrects, hesitantly lowering his hands over the piano keys. He feels like he’ll turn the piano to dust the second he starts playing, fingers shaking.

 

Suga snorts. “Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to be as good as me. That would be difficult, since there  _ isn’t _ anyone even near as good as me,” he scoffs, and then he points to one of the keys. “I’ll teach you something easy, okay?”

 

It doesn’t go as terribly as Namjoon had predicted it would, but by no means does it go  _ well _ . Namjoon is awkward and sloppy with his movements (in part, thanks to his shoulder), and while he can remember the keys Suga points out to him, he can’t for the life of him seem to hit them in the correct sequence. Suga’s trying to teach him solfege, and while he’s patient and his voice is something heavenly, Namjoon is just...hopeless.

 

Suga’s lesson quickly transitions from instructing to laughing, and neither of them are able to contain themselves for more than two seconds whenever it’s Namjoon’s turn to play. It’s sort of humiliating, but Namjoon could care less, because they’re both laughing and they’re close and they’re happy. And hey; when Namjoon’s up this close to Suga, he can see how bright Suga’s eyes are whenever he smiles.

 

“I didn’t think you’d be  _ this _ clumsy,” Suga says, trying to mask his laughter with his palm, and Namjoon can only sigh, not even bothering to try and hide the flush in his cheeks.

 

“I mean, I’ve been trying to tell you,” Namjoon says, moving his hands back to starting position.

 

And then they’re ( _ finally _ ) done, stumbling out of the tent, still laughing, because Namjoon was only able to run through the entire thing  _ once _ before either falling to pieces or just straight messing up. Namjoon swears he’ll  _ never _ try anything like that  _ ever _ again, but Suga only laughs, telling him he’d get an A for effort.

 

They return to a casual stroll around the festival grounds, passing a couple mini-stages and other instrumental stands (Namjoon makes sure to walk faster whenever they near the learn-to-play areas).

 

And then, while they’re back at the main stage, watching one of the classical performances. It’s a guitar ballad that Namjoon’s never heard, but it sounds nice, has his body feeling light and warm.

 

Namjoon’s just starting to sway to the music, humming along to the melody, when he feels Suga’s fingers brush over his own. Namjoon shivers; Suga’s hand is familiarly cool to the touch, and Namjoon doesn’t pull away. He glances over at Suga, who’s looking right back at him, and Namjoon recognizes the look of ambivalence -- he’s asking for Namjoon’s permission.

 

Namjoon gives a quick nod, swallowing, and his pulse picks up as Suga dips his fingers into Namjoon’s palm, fingers curling over his. Namjoon hasn’t held his or Jackson’s hand in what honestly has felt like ages, and he struggles to get his fingers to cooperate, moving them over Suga’s own hand. 

 

They’re still for a while, Namjoon’s fingers a little shaky, but eventually, as the performance goes on, Namjoon finds they’re both swaying to the beat of the song. They don’t talk, just give the occasional glance, and it’s...nice. Comfortable, wordless; intimate.

 

And then, Namjoon catches a flash of pink in his peripheral vision, and his eyes snap over to see -- fuck, is that -- is that cotton candy --

 

“Hey,” Suga suddenly nudges Namjoon’s shoulder, and Namjoon startles, snapping to attention. 

 

“Uh, yeah?” Namjoon breathes, flinching when a sharp note from whatever club song they have playing rings out overhead.

 

Suga casts a look past Namjoon, and although Namjoon doesn’t turn to follow, he has a feeling he’s also looking at the cotton candy. “Did you want some?” he asks, and. Yes. Namjoon would like that. A lot.

 

“Yes. Please,” Namjoon blurts out, not even needing to turn his head to check that Suga’s actually referring to the cotton candy. Suga smiles, tugging his wallet out of his pocket, and Namjoon beelines it for the food stand the second Suga starts walking toward it.

 

Suga buys him the largest size, and Namjoon is just fucking  _ devouring _ it, because he doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s had his hands on something so divinely sweet (aside from Suga and Jackson -- but they’re not food!). Suga doesn’t ask to eat any of it, though, quietly watching as Namjoon takes apart the wad of spun sugar. Namjoon can’t tell if he’s refraining from asking out of politeness, or if he just doesn’t like cotton candy (which would be  _ shocking _ ; who doesn’t like sugar that  _ melts in your mouth _ ?).

 

“Did you want some?” Namjoon mumbles, swiping his tongue over his lower lip. Suga blinks, eyes falling, and he shrugs, beginning to reach out, but Namjoon moves the cotton candy away, because -- “Hang on, I don’t want you getting your hands all sticky,” he says hurriedly, and after a beat, Suga lowers his hand. Namjoon takes the cone mounting the cotton candy with his other hand, using his other to pull off a fair sized portion of cotton candy.

 

“Here,” Namjoon says, holding his hand up to Suga’s mouth, and Suga blinks, looking a little startled. He gives Namjoon a brief look over, before leaning forward and biting at the cotton candy, and it’s all good and fine until Namjoon feels. Suga’s lips. Brush. Against. His.  _ Fingers _ .

 

Suga pulls back calmly, licking at his lips, and he must not have noticed...that. Namjoon, on the other hand, is kind of dying, fingers tingling where Suga had touched, and he must be blushing like an idiot right now. But really -- that was. Wow. Really hot. And Namjoon is --  _ Namjoon is _ \--

 

Namjoon offers him a couple more pieces after that, trying to ignore how closely Suga’s lips come to his hand with every bite. Namjoon doesn’t mention it, just continues to walk forward, talking about the first thing that comes to mind.

 

And then, of course, after they’ve circled the festival grounds a few times, Suga’s phone rings. Suga glares off into the distance, pulling his phone from his pocket, and he gives an aggravated sigh as he glances over the caller ID.

 

“Fuck,” Suga rolls his eyes, and Namjoon slows to a stop beside him. Suga sighs, tucking a few loose locks of his bangs to the side. “I have to take this; it won’t be long.”

 

Namjoon nods promptly, lifting the corners of his mouth up in a comforting smile. “No, no, it’s fine. I gotta wash my hands up, anyways, so,” he says, waving his hands, coated with remnants of the cotton candy around his fingertips (and -- also -- Suga -- touched -- his -- fingers -- with -- his -- lips).

 

Suga nods, before jabbing his finger into the answer button and turning away (Namjoon hears him greet his caller with a very terse,  _ Hello _ ). Namjoon hurries his way over to the park restrooms (which are conveniently close, and also clean), quickly sticking his hands under the nearest empty sink.

 

Namjoon stares at himself in the mirror as he scrubs at his fingertips. His face looks a little pink, but it’s probably... _ not _ from sunburn. 

 

The day’s been  _ way _ more than just enjoyable -- Namjoon’s been starved of any  _ real _ social activity, and getting to be so close with Suga for so long is just... _ wonderful _ . The talking, the food, the dumb piano thing, the hand holding, the cotton candy -- just sharing space with Suga has Namjoon feeling fuzzy and warm. It’s like everything has this soft glow to it, and Namjoon finds he’s craving that same sensation with Jackson and -- 

 

Namjoon’s hand slips, knocking into the knob for hot water. Yeah; he wants to hold hands with Jackson, wants to eat cotton candy with him, laugh over dumb things together. He wants to have that intimacy with Jackson -- no,  _ both  _ Jackson and Suga. 

 

And it feels selfish, but Namjoon wishes that Jackson was there, roaming the fair with Namjoon and Suga, shooting the breeze and eating and shouting with the music. He misses all the endless rambling,  running around anywhere and everywhere until they’re gasping for breath, the way Jackson would intertwine their fingers with ease, misses the hand kisses, and how Jackson looked at Namjoon like he’d known him in another life. 

 

Yeah, if Jackson were here, it’d be the fucking best -- well, if Jackson and Suga got along. Namjoon 

 

“Why can’t the two of them be friends,” Namjoon mumbles to himself -- and then he wants to slap himself, because -- “Rhetorical question, stupid --  _ I’m _ why,” he groans, twisting the hot and cold knobs off. He shakes his hands over the sink, raising his head, and his attention is snagged by Jackson smiling in the mirror, waving at him.

 

Wait --  _ Jackson _ . In the mirror. Waving at him.

 

Namjoon whirls around, mouth dry, his heart beginning to pound, and he feels light headed as his eyes land on Jackson’s figure (who’s oddly dressed up in bright colors and not his typical grey scale scheme). And Namjoon stares, because -- is this? Real? Because Namjoon is pretty certain Jackson only wears bright colors in his dreams (he still has a piercing, though; looks like the small silver stud Namjoon thinks he’s seen on him before).

 

“Oh my god,” Namjoon starts, fingers numb. “I miss you so much I’m hallucinating.”

 

Jackson(?) laughs at that, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m the real deal, babe,” he chimes, and there --  _ that _ \-- the way Jackson calls Namjoon  _ babe _ \-- it  _ is _ him, it  _ is him _ , he’s  _ actually here _ \--

 

“Well, you’re looking a lot better than when I last saw you, haha,” Jackson smiles, and Namjoon thinks he could melt, skin warm beneath Jackson’s grin and voice.

 

“Yeah,” Namjoon nods, and his voice sounds more than a little unsteady. “It’s been -- three weeks, huh? I missed you so much. How are you -- ” Namjoon reaches a hand up toward Jackson, because he needs to  _ feel _ him, needs to touch him because it’s been  _ so long _ . “ -- how are you here?” he finishes, breathless.

 

And then Jackson reaches his own hand out, taking Namjoon’s hand in his own, and already Namjoon recognizes the firm touch, his body temperature; it’s all unmistakably  _ Jackson _ .

 

“I’m here because of the power of love,” Jackson says cheekily, grinning bright and confident, and Namjoon’s breath catches as Jackson turns his hand in his palm.

 

“Nerd,” Namjoon smirks, and he can’t stop looking into Jackson’s eyes. And then he swallows. “This is. Real. Right?” Because it can’t be fake, it  _ can’t _ \-- this can’t be some cruel mirage he’s conjured up in the midst of simply washing his hands.

 

“Yep. I’m real as fuck,” Jackson laughs, before raising up Namjoon’s hand to his mouth, kissing over the ridge of his knuckles, and Namjoon’s skin feels warm all over, his mind spinning. Jackson is  _ here _ \-- in the bathroom, holding Namjoon’s hand,  _ kissing his knuckles _ . The air around Namjoon is suddenly sweltering, pulsating with  _ warmth _ , so much so Namjoon feels like he can’t breathe. And the way Jackson’s lips feel against his skin, the cool touch of his piercing, pushes him further into faintness ( _ literally _ ; Namjoon feels like he’s about to pass out).

 

“I'm so fucking sorry I couldn't visit you, or talk to you at all,” Jackson says quietly against the back of Namjoon's hand, his breath steady and familiar against his skin. He's looking right at Namjoon, an intense glint in his eyes that suddenly softens as Jackson grips his hand a little tighter, pressing it to his cheek. Namjoon flushes -- the action feels so  _ intimate _ , indescribably affectionate, and Namjoon’s never done anything like  _ this _ before, yet here’s Jackson, making it all seem like this is the millionth time they’ve done this.

 

Jackson steps forward, moving in close, and Namjoon doesn’t pull away. A wave of what must be affection and relief passes over Jackson’s eyes, and Namjoon realizes he’s looking over his face. “Ah. I missed you,” Jackson says with a grin, and he’s so  _ close _ , that Namjoon can feel his breath over his face, and he thinks he can smell something orangey, citrusy and sharp (oh -- Jinyoung had said Jackson liked orange bubblegum, right?). 

 

Without any warning, Jackson suddenly leans forward, pressing a kiss to Namjoon’s cheek. It’s sweet and warm and gentle, and Jackson still has Namjoon’s palm held to his face. Namjoon feels the warmth turn  _ hot _ , blood racing faster, and he focuses on the sensation of Jackson’s lips, still curved into a grin, pressed against his cheek.

 

Jackson’s hand moves against Namjoon’s hand, and as Jackson begins to pull away, he slips his other hand over Namjoon’s free wrist, tugging it up, stopping when both of their palms are pressed flat against one another’s.

 

“Okay, but you will not  _ believe _ how I got here, I literally have the coolest escape story for you,” Jackson gushes, and suddenly, his fingers are moving against Namjoon’s hands, sliding into the space between Namjoon’s own fingers. Their hands are entwined, Jackson giving a light squeeze to his palms, and Namjoon’s breath kind of catches, because he’s never held  _ both _ hands with anyone. It’s all so sudden, and Namjoon feels perfectly overwhelmed, slowly clasping Jackson’s hands in his own (that’s -- that’s what you do, right? In this kind of situation?).

 

“So first I went out to buy comfort food -- well, I mean, I  _ said _ I was gonna get comfort food, ‘cause I had to figure out  _ some _ kind of lie to get out of there -- but anyways, I actually  _ did _ go out to buy food, but then I fucking  _ bolted _ outta there. I was so fucking stealthy, you shoulda seen me -- ” Jackson rambles, holding Namjoon’s hands a little closer (Namjoon maybe almost yelps). “Like, I had to jump a fence, I ran a couple of blocks to this one house with a bunch of kids I’m friends with. And then I borrowed some of their clothes, cause, y’know, I always wear black and stuff, so that’s what my guard’s would be looking for. That’s why I’m all -- ” Jackson drums his fingers against the back of Namjoon’s hand. “ -- pastel-ed out.”

 

Namjoon glances down at Jackson’s sky blue jacket and khaki colored jeans, and he’s about to tell Jackson he kind of reminds him of cotton candy, when he realizes --

 

“Wait, guards?” Namjoon blinks. Guards? As in, people watching Jackson? Why would he need to be watched…?

 

“Yeah, I ditched ‘em real quick. But anyways, after I got all dressed and stuff, I skateboarded like, a couple more blocks, and then I hitched a ride on a bus for a few more, and then I ran the rest of the way here!” Jackson gives a casual shrug, still smiling, and it almost seems like --

 

“Jackson,” Namjoon starts, trying for a small smile, and he adjusts his grip on Jackson’s hands, fingers slotted seamlessly against Jackson’s knuckles. “Are you still...on probation?”

 

Jackson purses his lips, but he doesn’t seem to be worried in the slightest. “Yeah, I’ve been here for like, twenty minutes trying to find you,” he says, and then he’s grinning again, eyes shining with something joyful. And then he adds, “I thought you were coming here by yourself. But I mean, I saw you eating some cotton candy with Suga ten minutes ago, and I didn’t wanna. Uh. Intrude?”

 

Namjoon stares, because it’s  _ great _ that Jackson’s here,  _ perfect _ , even, but what if Jackson’s gonna be punished even  _ more _ for sneaking out? And -- and he saw the  _ thing _ . With the cotton candy. And Suga. Namjoon’s face feels warm, mind racing from one thought to the other, and he opens his mouth to say  _ something _ to Jackson, probably tell him he’s worried, or something, when --

 

“Namjoon, my call’s finished. Are you -- ” Suga’s voice reaches Namjoon’s ears, and Namjoon feels like his heart is about to stop. He turns his head to see Suga stepping into the bathroom, a hand raised up to his bangs (god, he was going to run his fingers through his hair, does he  _ know _ what that does to Namjoon?). He’s looking back at Namjoon, and it’s  _ amazing _ that he’s here, too, but also not, because Jackson and Suga are probably going to rip each other to pieces. 

 

Suga’s eyes flit over to Jackson’s, and something dark filters in through his eyes. “What are you doing here,” he says lowly, tone flat and accusatory, and oh god, fuck,  _ not again _ \--

 

Namjoon feels Jackson grip his hands a little tighter, and when he looks back at Jackson, he’s still smiling, looking just as happy as had been two seconds earlier. “I’m here to see Namjoon,” Jackson says, turning his attention back to Namjoon, smile widening, and Namjoon’s heart pounds. “Jinyoung gave me a heads up about you being here. I wanted to surprise you.”

 

“I thought you were still on probation,” Suga says, sounding irritated, and when Namjoon looks back at him, his eyes bear a positively vicious glint. Namjoon swallows, because this isn’t  _ fair _ ; why can’t Suga and Jackson be friends (and also, why does Namjoon have to be such a horrible human being?)?

 

“Haha, yeah, I’m actually on restriction,” Jackson laughs, not sounding nervous at all, and  _ what _ ? He’s on  _ what _ \--

 

Suga narrows his eyes. “You’re not seriously…” he trails off, and then he curls his lip. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, and it’s like the warmth in the room has been replaced with something cold, sharp. “Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

 

Jackson smacks his lips, appearing pretty unaffected by Suga’s venomous tone. “Uh, yeah, about that -- I lost my phone. As in, I lost my phone to Youngjae,” he says, and then he gives Namjoon a sheepish look, and -- oh, god, no,  _ those eyes _ \-- “They kind of figured out I was talking to Jinyoung about you, so I can’t really see him either, now.”

 

Namjoon’s eyes widen, because oh  _ fuck _ , Jackson really  _ is _ gonna be punished for being here. He wonders how long Jinyoung’s been talking with Jackson, and if Jinyoung even knows that Jackson’s now on probation with  _ him _ . God, this is fucked up --

 

“So you’re  _ really _ not supposed to be here,” Suga drawls, arms now folded over his chest. The tension in the air is thickening rapidly, turning unbearably tight, and Namjoon wishes they could all just  _ breathe _ .

 

“Depends on your perspective,” Jackson hums, and his mouth pulls into a thin line. “But yeah, they’re hunting my ass right now, so could you  _ please _ explain to Youngjae what the  _ fuck _ is going on with -- ” he makes a vague gesture amongst the three of them. “ --  _ us _ ? Because this is getting real fucking ridiculous,” and then he looks back at Namjoon, tone softening. “I just...I just wanted to see you, Joonie.” And then he drops Namjoon’s hands, reaching forward, wrapping his arms around Namjoon’s torso to envelop him in a hug.

 

Namjoon feels his breath hitch, feeling light headed at both Jackson’s words and touch. His arms are trapped between Jackson and his own chest, but he lets Jackson cling to him, lets him rest his nose against his shoulder, because it just feels...right. Namjoon tucks his chin just the barest inch, observing the contours of Jackson’s face and the sound of his breathing -- god, he’s so  _ gorgeous _ , and Namjoon feels positively captivated.

 

It all feels...real. Jackson’s hold and his touch feel so  _ real _ , and it’s all perfect, like the stars have aligned at a one hundred and eighty degree angle, and yeah, life fucking sucks right now, but Namjoon is gonna take this moment for what it’s worth. Because, from the sounds of things...he might not have it for much longer. Maybe not even ever again (Namjoon shudders; he doesn’t even want to  _ think _ about never being able to see Jackson again).

 

“Hey, uh,” Namjoon mumbles aloud, pursing his lips. Jackson looks so calm; placid, like he’s been completed standing so close to Namjoon, holding him, and the thought of such a possibility has Namjoon’s skin feeling warm. Namjoon swallows. “I’m so glad to finally see you. And to talk to you, and be with you -- I never imagined anyone would do so much just to...to see  _ me _ . But I -- ” Namjoon’s voice drips down to a whisper, and he blinks his eyes shut, fingers grappling with the fabric of Jackson’s jacket. “ -- I’m kinda... _ terrified _ for you right now.”

 

Namjoon sees Jackson smile against his chest, feels him pulling him closer at the waist. “Yeah, well. I’d do anything for you,” he says, and it’s so sappy,  _ emotional _ , but it’s  _ Jackson _ , and the way he says it is so honeyed and tender, Namjoon’s just...touched, feeling breathless.

 

Namjoon lifts his head, and when he looks to Suga, his heart twists, like something sharp’s been stuck through his chest, tearing through skin to stab straight into muscle. Suga’s jaw is tight, and although his face doesn’t give way to any outward emotion, Namjoon can see a full spectrum of confusion swirling in his eyes. Namjoon feels so  _ torn _ ; he doesn’t want to push Jackson away (in fact, he’s not sure if he’s even capable of trying), but he knows this isn’t fair to Suga at all, and that this all must be ripping him apart.

 

Suga blinks, meeting Namjoon’s gaze, and it’s like Namjoon is slammed with too many emotions all at once, heart leaping right into his throat. Namjoon wants to reach out and pull Suga closer, hold him like how Jackson’s holding  _ him _ , but would that really make things better? So fucking  _ selfish _ , that’s what Namjoon is --

 

“Fine,” Suga suddenly says, voice tight, and Namjoon swallows. “I’ll call Youngjae and set things straight.”

 

Jackson pulls away from Namjoon, eyes snapping over to Suga, and Namjoon can honestly feel the joy radiating off of him. “Really? You’re serious?” he exclaims, and Namjoon feels his hands slipping from the small of his back to his waist, and his face warms, because. Uh. 

 

Suga closes his eyes, giving an aggravated sigh, before gritting out, “Yes. But not right now, we need to be somewhere private.”

 

“We could go to my place?” Namjoon suggests, because his flat should be empty (Hoseok’s showcases usually last a while, and he’ll probably want to have dinner with Taehyung and Hoseok do...things). Also, it’s Namjoon’s own place, so maybe the atmosphere won’t be as suffocating there, and he can maybe ( _ maybe _ ) get Jackson and Suga to not want to kill each other.

 

“Suga’s place is closer,” Jackson shrugs, and Namjoon almost jumps as he feels his hands fall away from his hips (because! Fuck!). “And also, hah, they’d never look for me there. Perfectly safe!”

 

Namjoon turns to Suga for his input, because it  _ is _ his house, and it  _ is _ his good graces that are going to sort this misunderstanding out, so he should have the final say in what happens.

 

Suga is silent for a few seconds, before he sighs again, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Fine,” he says, glowering in Jackson’s direction, and then his tone turns sharp. “But the second we have everything crystal clear, you’re out of my house.”

 

At this, Jackson snorts, reaching a hand up to brush his bangs aside (it’s so  _ weird _ to see him with unstyled hair, even if it’s the same platinum blonde color -- and it looks so soft, like what the heck). “Well, I mean, wouldn’t want to be around you for too long anyways; I’d catch a cold, probably,” he says, tone light, as if he means to compliment Suga, and Namjoon wants to punch a wall (because  _ goddamnit _ , this is all heading down the same path as before).

 

Suga thankfully doesn’t respond, at least not verbally, shooting a more than a little vindictive glare Jackson’s way. “We should head out now. Before you get caught,” he says, beginning to turn.

 

“Um, okay,” Namjoon mumbles quietly, starting after Suga. He hears Jackson follow, his footsteps quick and light.

 

“You remember the way?” Suga pauses, looking back at Namjoon, and his eyes have a hint of the same softness from when they had been walking around the festival together. 

 

Namjoon nods. “Yeah, um, I’ll be okay,” he says, slowing his steps. He’s been to Suga’s enough to know the right route to his place (he realizes he’s never been to Jackson’s place, though. Does he own a flat? Or a kind of mansion, like Suga?).

 

Suga gives a small nod, blinking, before turning and beginning to walk again. Namjoon sticks close, keeping time with his steps as they meander their way through the festival grounds to the exit.

 

The whole walk, Namjoon keeps his eyes downcast. His chest feels tight, his lungs weighed down, and he realizes it’s because he misses being close to Suga. He wants to take his hand in his own and walk beside him, wants to rest his head against his shoulder. And then he feels guilty, because he’s just done all of those things with both Jackson and Suga, and he  _ still _ wants to do those things with  _ both  _ Jackson and Suga, and he doesn’t fucking know what to do.

 

When they reach the parking lot, Suga drives his bike over to where Namjoon had parked. Jackson’s riding with Namjoon (although, really, that’s obvious, because Suga’s probably the last person alive Jackson would want to be alone with anywhere), swiftly taking a seat in the passenger side when Namjoon unlocks the car.

 

“I’ll see you at yours,” Namjoon calls out to Suga, a hand rested against his open car door. Suga turns to look Namjoon’s way, and even though Namjoon is too far to see Suga’s eyes through the visor of his helmet, he knows he’s looking him right in the eye.

 

“See you,” Suga echoes softly, before pushing off.

 

Namjoon slides into the front seat, slowly shutting his door. As he starts up his car, he inhales deep, closing his eyes.  _ It’ll be alright _ , Namjoon tells himself, beginning to pull out.  _ You’re gonna get them to get along, and nothing bad is gonna happen _ .

 

\--

 

Suga can’t believe he’s actually doing this.

 

He can’t believe he’s actually allowing his rival (practically  _ escorting _ him)  _ back _ to his own house, can’t believe he’s going to let him sit on his furniture and lounge around while he sorts out a problem that isn’t even really his to begin with. But it’s for Namjoon, and Suga...wants Namjoon to be happy. So he’ll do it. 

 

Suga drives alongside Namjoon for a majority of the trip, occasionally being forced to move up a little, and although he’s appreciative of the fact that he can see Namjoon clearly from where he is, he also sees...Jackson. More than that, he can see Namjoon  _ laughing  _ and  _ smiling _ \-- but it’s because of Jackson. Suga doesn’t know whether he wants to speed up or stay when he sees Namjoon’s face light up so pretty (he  _ does _ know that he wants to punch Jackson’s face in, though).

 

It’s more than a little unnerving that fucking  _ Jackson _ is the one driving with Namjoon. If only he’d brought his own fucking bike, and yes, Suga is going to admit that he wants to be the one closest to Namjoon. He hasn’t had Namjoon ride with him on his bike in weeks, and of course  _ Jackson _ has to get in the fucking way of everything. God; he just wants to touch Namjoon, hold him close and never let go -- but there’s  _ Jackson _ .

 

Stupid fucking  _ Jackson _ , with his stupid fucking pastel jacket (what the hell happened to all his black stuff?), his stupid fucking smile that somehow brings out an absolutely gorgeous smile in Namjoon, and his stupid fucking nickname that’s too perfect for Namjoon (and the way he’d  _ said _ it was much too sentimental for Suga to stand). And his godforsaken  _ texts _ ; Suga had felt blessed to have been relieved of his nonsense for the whole day. It’s a shame he’ll have to deal with his actual voice for the next hour (and depressingly, probably even longer).

 

Suga feels exceedingly frustrated for the duration of the ride. He’s felt off edge since the second he’d walked into the bathroom to find Jackson holding hands with Namjoon (their fingers were fucking  _ intertwined _ ). Jealousy and uncertainty are all mixed together in his gut, an amalgam of too intense emotions, and the product of it all is a terrible fucking mood that has Suga wanting to crush something.

 

Once Suga’s reached his house, parked inside the garage, he steps off and into the house quickly. He hadn’t seen any lights on from the outside, but he checks to see if Jin, Taehyung, or Jimin and Jungkook have decided to take up residence on one of his couches. He concludes the house is empty, though, upon re checking the garage and finding that his own bike is the only one present (which is good; Suga can get this done faster, and not have to answer a million questions as he goes). 

 

“Stay in here,” Suga directs toward Jackson, making sure to sound firm. Jackson and Namjoon are walking in through the garage door, side by side, and a part of Suga tenses at the sight.

 

“Yep, gotcha,” Jackson says, hardly even looking back at Suga, and instead keeping his eyes trained solely on Namjoon. 

 

Namjoon gives a tiny nod, smiling over at Suga (Suga feels his heart beat a little faster at that), before sitting himself on one of the couches. Jackson follows, practically tossing himself down onto the open space next to Namjoon (the sight of  _ that _ makes Suga’s blood boil; Jackson’d better not get anything on his fucking furniture).

 

“So to answer your question, we just texted each other. Like, how your recovery was going, um, stuff like that,” Jackson says, and he’s surprisingly not all over Namjoon, keeping a small gap between them (now, if only he’d actually _ sit  _ like a normal human being). “He’s not  _ super _ conversational, though; I dunno how you get him to talk at all.”

 

Suga does his best to pretend he hadn’t heard anything, focusing on pulling his phone out of his pocket ( _ fuck _ ; what Suga would do to be able to slam Jackson against the nearest surface).

 

“Oh, well. I mean, I sometimes talk about music with him,” Namjoon says, and when he’s just beginning to lean back against the couch, he winces. It’s only a slight flinch, but Suga definitely notices it, and he opens his mouth to ask if he’s alright --

 

“Woah, you okay, babe? Your shoulder getting worse?” Jackson jumps to ask, leaning closer to Namjoon, brows knitted in concern. He has a hand held near Namjoon’s shoulder, hovering over the wound, and Suga closes his mouth. 

 

Namjoon shakes his head, waving a hand. “I’m good, just, uh,” he says, shifting in his seat. “I think I need my painkillers,” he purses his lips, frowning a little. Suga hears him mutter a quiet “F-fuck,” under his breath, and he feels something inside of him fracture and fall.

 

“Yeah, do you need me to drive you?” Jackson is saying, a hand rested on one of Namjoon’s thighs. Suga almost snorts; Jackson should have been the one driving in the first place. 

 

“No, I’ll be okay,” Namjoon says, tapping the hand Jackson has on his leg. He sighs, sending an anxious look Suga’s way. “I’m sorry, it’s...acting up again. It was fine before, I dunno why it’s starting up now…I’m sorry,” he says, sounding ashamed, and Suga wants to hold his face and tell him he’s done nothing wrong, kiss his pain away.

 

“Don’t be,” Suga says, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Your comfort and health are both important.” I can’t stand to see you suffer, he almost says, but maybe now isn’t the time (he should save such solicitous words for a more private scene; one that’s specifically sans Jackson).

 

Namjoon smiles softly at that, a soft flush blooming in his cheeks (cute, Suga thinks). “Do you think...um, that I could run and grab my painkillers? It’s -- ” Namjoon pauses, swallowing. “ -- it’s bad.”

 

“Yeah, go ahead,” Suga nods, trying hard to mask how much it hurts to see Namjoon hurting (because of Suga himself; this is  _ his _ fault).

 

Namjoon seems hesitant to leave, though, biting at his lip. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna be a hassle. I think I can maybe stand a few more minutes,” he says, shifting in his seat.

 

“You’re not a hassle,” Suga says, and he wishes Namjoon wouldn’t be so harsh on himself. “You’re not delaying anything. I promise the call’s going to happen.” he shoots Jackson a glance, and is returned with some sort of look Suga thinks is grim, or at least apprehensive, before he looks back to Namjoon.

 

Namjoon lowers his chin a little, and Suga thinks it’s to hide his pinkening flush. “Uh, yeah. I promise I’ll be quick. Sorry, again,” he says, standing slowly. Jackson is at his side again, a hand over his, and Suga watches them both with the attentiveness of a hawk (Jackson had  _ better _ not fucking touch Namjoon’s shoulder). Namjoon smiles fondly at Jackson, before tapping his hand again and stepping away. “I’ll let Hobi know I’m staying here, too. I’ll be back fast,” he says, waving and smiling at both Jackson and Suga.

 

Suga smiles back, watching as Namjoon exits into the garage. Quietly, he wonders if there had been some component of concern in Namjoon’s eyes as he had left. He seemed almost anxious -- but over what, Suga doesn’t know.

 

And then Suga realizes he’s been left with Jackson. Alone. Again. In the confines of his own house. And while that last fact is a slight comfort, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s  _ Jackson _ . The thought of going upstairs and shutting himself in his studio is compelling, but Suga knows anything he produces is going to be awful, considering his current mood (which is that of everything opposite of being happy).

 

Resigned, Suga takes a seat in one of the empty chairs, across the way from Jackson, who's staring after where Namjoon had stood, a warm smile playing across his lips. After another moment, he drops himself back down onto the couch, and the way his eyes are filled with raw, uninhibited joy has Suga almost cringing. 

 

There’s something that doesn’t sit well with Suga, as he watches Jackson express his apparent enthusiasm to himself. The way he taps his fingers against his thighs to some unheard rhythm, how he’s now sitting upright instead of slouched against the cushions, the additive of the insanely vibrant color palette of his clothes. And his  _ smile _ ; the overjoyed and too giddy pulling of his healthy, pink lips is just  _ awful _ to look at. All the excess exuberance has Suga feeling bitter, vexed.

 

Suga isn’t actually  _ exactly _ sure what’s so irritating about Jackson and his inundating vigor, but it’s just... _ infuriating _ . And he just keeps  _ grinning _ , as if he isn’t guilty of nearly getting himself and Namjoon punished for violating  _ two _ agreements (that were both  _ temporary _ ; he could have  _ waited _ at the very least, and then asked for help that Suga would probably very reluctantly give, because it’s  _ Namjoon _ ) with his leader.

 

Suga observes Jackson’s wordless excitement from his seat with narrowed eyes. Yes; it’s  _ disgusting _ to see how outright  _ careless _ Jackson is. Doesn’t he know the meaning of obedience, or even  _ common sense _ ? God; the guy probably doesn’t even think he’s done anything  _ remotely _ wrong.

 

_ How can you be like this? _ Suga thinks inwardly, glaring at Jackson. He’s out of control;  _ wild _ . It’s probably not even possible to keep him in check. He’s going to get Namjoon hurt even  _ more _ .

 

Suddenly, Jackson’s eyes snap over to Suga’s, and his smile evaporates, replaced with a look of suspicion, caution. “I’m sorry?” he says, brows raised, almost like a challenge, and Suga realizes he’s just spoken his own thoughts aloud. 

 

“I said,” Suga begins -- it's too late for him to back down now. “How can you be like this?”

 

Jackson stares blankly, obviously not understanding the question, and Suga rolls his eyes. “I mean, how can you be so reckless;  _ careless _ ,” he clarifies, almost spitting. It isn’t that difficult to see how much Jackson’s fucked up, but apparently, Jackson is exceptional in this ability.

 

Something fiery sparks in Jackson’s eyes, and Suga sees him his hands clench into fists. “I’m not reckless  _ or _ careless,” he says back, sounding so sure, and Suga almost laughs outright, because  _ really _ ?

 

“I’m pretty sure you are, with that stunt you just pulled,” Suga bites out, flexing the fingers of one hand. 

 

Jackson looks startled, like he’s been hit from behind, and Suga almost relishes in the small victory. But Jackson opens his mouth again, apparently still willing to defend his own mistakes.

 

“That was carefully planned out; I didn’t just up and run the first second I got, okay? And I made sure I wasn’t gonna get caught,” Jackson counters, sitting up in his seat a little more. And then his fists loosen, fingers uncurling back against his legs. “Joonie is important to me,” he says quietly, soft around Namjoon’s nickname, and Suga isn’t having any of it.

 

“Evidently  _ not _ , because  _ clearly _ , you weren’t thinking about  _ any  _ of the consequences,” Suga says, unflinching. How can Jackson think he cares about Namjoon if he just forgoes his safety, running blindly like he thinks he isn’t going to crash into anything?

 

Jackson splutters. “Not thinking about the -- okay, I  _ know _ that I when I get back, I’m gonna be in deep shit. You’re gonna clear this all up, but I’m still gonna be in deep shit,” he says, gesturing animatedly. “But I did this for Joonie,” he adds, as if it’s an excuse for his terrible,  _ childish _ behavior.

 

“For  _ Namjoon _ ?” Suga parrots, disbelieving. “You did this for  _ yourself _ . You didn’t have a single care for him in this entire excuse for a  _ plan _ .”

 

“Of course I did! I did this because I care about him, and he cares about  _ me _ ,” Jackson says back, voice jumping to a near yell (Suga can hear his words bounce around the walls of his house).

 

“What about his safety?” Suga pushes, wondering how Jackson doesn’t see how glaringly  _ wrong _ he is, how  _ foolish _ he is. “Did you ever even  _ once _ consider what could have happened to him at the festival if you’d made the wrong move?” He feels nauseous at the thought of someone hurting Namjoon again, but he keeps himself steeled.

 

Jackson stares, and for a moment Suga thinks he has him struck speechless, until Jackson grins. “Oh,  _ look who’s talking about safety _ \-- aren’t  _ you _ the reason he got shot? And pretty much the reason we’re in this whole fuck fest?” he laughs, eyes glittering with something hot, and Suga’s blood turns to ice.

 

“Don’t.  _ Even _ ,” he says warningly, feeling his face burn with shame.

 

Jackson, however, seems to have gained his confidence yet again (had he ever really lost it, though?). “Oh, so you  _ do _ get emotional over him,” he muses observantly, level, and Suga’s more than ready to punch his ribs in.

 

“I never wanted him hurt,” Suga says through gritted teeth. He tries to recall every memory of Namjoon comforting him, soothing him and telling him it wasn’t his fault. It’s all an effort made in vain, though, because Suga’s never going to let go of that fact that it really  _ is _ his fault. “He wasn’t the one that was supposed to be at the end of that bullet. But I’m never going to stop trying to make up for it, because I know I’ll never be able to,” he says, and then he looks Jackson dead in the eye. “I’m trying the best I can to make him  _ happy _ , and keep him  _ safe _ . I just want him to be happy.”

 

Jackson furrows his brow, as if he’s unconvinced. “Well, looks like we have a common interest, then. I just want to be happy, and I want to be happy  _ with him _ ,” he says, and Suga’s had  _ enough _ .

 

“You selfish  _ brat _ \-- do you think this is all about  _ you _ ?! It just doesn’t matter what  _ I _ want?” Suga snarls, something ferocious flaring in his chest. He presses on, his blood feeling hotter and hotter. “Why the fuck do you think I’ve done  _ everything _ I can for Namjoon? Why do you think I’ve been your fucking  _ messenger dove _ for the past three fucking weeks? Why do you think I’ve spent every fucking breath I have trying to see that Namjoon’s safe and sound?” he’s leaning dangerously far forward, as if he’s ready to pounce, but he inhales, shutting his eyes. He can feel tears warm beneath his eyelids, but when he looks back at Jackson, he doesn’t let any fall. “It’s because I  _ care _ about him. Because he  _ matters _ to me.”

 

Jackson lifts his hat, running his fingers through his bangs with his other hand, and Suga realizes that he’s  _ laughing _ . “I can’t -- I can’t believe you -- you  _ actually _ , l-legitimately care about him -- didn't even -- even think it when I saw y-you eating that ice cream that one time, and the cotton candy today,” he says, hiccuping, and it’s when he looks back at Suga that he catches the shine of tears in his eyes. “Look at you now, though,” he adds, sniveling, and Suga clenches his jaw.

 

“Fuck  _ off _ , you don’t know  _ anything _ ,” Suga says lowly, gripping the arms of his seat (tears threaten to flow, but he doesn’t allow any to spill over). Suga doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve like Jackson, or Jimin or Jungkook or Taehyung or Jin, but’s not some emotionless  _ bastard _ . He feels, and he  _ hurts _ .

 

Jackson sniffs, hands held into fists on his lap again. “I’m not a fucking  _ genius _ , but I know that I care about Namjoon, and I know I’m gonna do anything and everything for him,” he says, sounding choked up, and a few tears begin to run down his face, like little pieces of starlight. He swallows, and then, voice wavering, says, “What about you?”

 

“I don’t know!  _ I don’t know _ !” Suga shouts, palms suddenly in the air. His mind is racing, and he feels numb all over; burning and freezing all at once. “I’ve never had something like -- like  _ this _ before!” he says, a burst of rage finally blossoming on his tongue. “I’m not a -- a fucking  _ love expert _ . I don’t know what the right things to say are, I don’t know how to get someone’s heart fluttering, I don’t know when it’s fine to hold hands, I don’t know how to  _ love _ right.” And then he pauses, breathing just the slightest pitch heavier. He furrows his brow, fighting off the urge to cry. “I’ve...I’ve never... _ loved _ ...before…”

 

Jackson blinks, and another tear rolls down his face, dripping off of his chin. “You’ve,” he sniffs, “You’ve never...had something like this?”

 

“No, I haven’t,” Suga bites out, but a part of him regrets the acidity of his tone. Because he’s...he’s a fucking hypocrite. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He...he shouldn’t be telling Jackson how to love Namjoon -- not when Suga doesn’t know how to love Namjoon right himself.

 

Jackson’s shoulders go lax, and he hunches over. “I...didn’t realize… _ fuck _ \-- I’m s-sorry, I thought that you -- god, I’m a fucking asshole,” he says, words tumbling over one another, and he suddenly covers his face. Suga hears him gasping, “I thought you -- you didn’t really like him. Thought y-you just wanted h-him to yourself. I’m sorry, I’m s-so fucking sorry.”

 

And something cool splashes over Suga, like an ocean wave sweeping around his ankles and up to his knees.  It manifests itself into something watery,  _ emotional _ , and Suga blinks his tears away before they can fall free. 

 

“No, I’m sorry,” Suga says, his voice a little hoarse. He swallows down the urge to rest his head and cry, swallows down what he can’t control. “I was...wrong, to criticize you.  I’m...I’m being ridiculous,” he says, lowering his head. He’s acting like some self righteous teenager; he needs to get a handle on himself. 

 

“No, no,” Jackson suddenly says, looking up from his hands, and Suga blinks up at him. Jackson is wiping at his face, and distantly, Suga wonders how many tear stains his jacket will have by the time he’s through. “Being...being  _ emotional _ isn’t ridiculous. It’s...it’s human, and -- and everyone has the right to be h-happy, and especially, l-love who they want to,” he says, a little breathy, and somehow it...it touches Suga in a way that he can’t describe, and a part of him wants to cry even more. And then Jackson coughs. “You’re right, I was being selfish. I’m sorry.”

 

It’s silent, then. Jackson is rubbing at his chin and face, gasping softly, and Suga...Suga just hangs his head, eyes downcast. He feels sort of... _ miserable _ . Because he’s been so out-of-control, so  _ angry _ , and he’s -- he’s  _ hurt _ Jackson. 

 

Suga doesn’t know what to say, then. He’s never just --  _ snapped _ like that, at someone he barely knows, and he sure as hell has never had to deal with its aftermath. The apologies are out on both sides, but it almost feels as though...it isn’t enough. But Suga doesn’t know how to fill the void, can only keep his eyes trained on the floor.

 

“Hey,” Jackson suddenly calls out, and Suga looks up. Jackson’s hat is lying at his side, and he’s still wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “No...no more hard feelings, okay? I mean, I was jealous and shit, but  _ f-fuck _ , that was-- kind of fucked up. I don’t...I don’t want to do that do you ever again.”

 

Suga blinks, and after a beat, nods. “No more hard feelings,” he echoes quietly, resting his palms against his knees. “You weren’t the only jealous one.”

 

Jackson gives an airy laugh at that, combing his fingers through his hair. “Good to know we were both idiots,” he says, and instead of feeling insulted, Suga feels...understood. And then Jackson is standing up. “Wanna shake on it?” he asks, holding a hand out.

 

Suga glances down at his hand, and he rises from his chair. “Yeah,” he nods, walking toward Jackson. He raises his own hand up, but he hesitates, warily eyeing Jackson’s hand, slightly shining with what must be a coat of tears.

 

“Don’t worry, it’s just tears,” Jackson says reassuringly, and when Suga looks back up at him, he’s smiling. 

 

Suga nods, quickly reaching his hand forward. He ends up grabbing Jackson’s forearm, Jackson doing the same, and they hold each other for a few, soundless moments. And then Suga feels Jackson squeeze his arm.

 

“No more jealousy?” Jackson is saying, and Suga knows he’s speaking for the both of them.

 

“No more stupidity,” Suga says back, and he’s surprised to see Jackson grin and laugh at that.

 

“For Joonie, then,” Jackson says, sounding sure, and he has an intense look to his eyes.

 

“For Namjoon,” Suga agrees, and after another second, they release each other simultaneously.  Suga waits until Jackson has nodded, dropped back onto the couch and settled, before he turns and makes his way back to his chair. 

 

Sitting in silence again, Suga realizes he feels...weightless. Like he’s finally lifted something monumental off of his chest, and he can breathe again (or, more precisely, breathe around  _ Jackson _ ). 

 

Suga glances over at Jackson, who’s looking off to the side and tapping his fingers against his lap again. He notices a distinct lack (or lessening) of any feelings of vexation as he watches him, his heart beating on calmly. A part of him has a feeling that if Namjoon does indeed choose Jackson, Suga will be able to better understand now.  

 

And then Suga leans back into his chair. All he can do now is wait until Namjoon comes back, and then the three of them can finally establish that there really isn’t anything... _ wrong _ going on with them.

 

\--

 

It’s dead silent until Namjoon gets back.

 

But really, after that whole...thing, Jackson gets why Suga wouldn’t have anything else to say to him (although, when  _ does _ the guy say anything, hah). Jackson himself doesn’t really have anything he’s dying to tell Suga, and even if he did, he doubts Suga would really say much back. 

 

Jackson feels a little weightless after all they’ve said. It’s like the sky’s a little clearer, and Jackson can tell right from wrong. He can -- he can  _ breathe _ a little better, with the air crisp and not so  _ suffocating _ (although, Jackson knows it’s partially his fault for causing such an atmosphere).

 

When the sound of a car pulling up front reaches the living room, both Jackson and Suga perk up from their resting positions (kind of like dogs, if Jackson’s being honest), eyes flitting over to the garage door. Jackson catches the glance Suga sends his way, some unreadable look that Jackson doesn’t really understand, but neither of them say anything, attention taken up by Namjoon walking through the door.

 

“Um, back,” Namjoon says, his usual shy, dimpled grin making its grand reappearance (fuck, he’s so  _ cute _ \-- Jackson just wants to cup his face and kiss him breathless). He stumbles over to the couch, blinking back and forth between Jackson and Suga, and a look of worry passes over his eyes. “I, um, I wasn’t gone for too long, was I?” he asks, scratching at the back of his neck.

 

“No,” Suga says, and Jackson watches as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Are you ready?”

 

The question is half directed at Namjoon, half directed at Jackson. Jackson nods in haste; the sooner things can be sorted out, the sooner  _ other _ things can be sorted out (things involving Namjoon and Suga). “I’m ready,” he says, eyeing Suga’s phone.

 

Namjoon situates himself on the empty end of the couch, and he blinks. “You’re -- you’re putting it on speaker?” he says, clearly anxious, and Jackson wishes he could take his hand in his, squeeze, maybe kiss his temple and tell him everything’s going to work out (because it  _ will _ ; this is  _ going to work out _ ).

 

“Everyone here deserves to hear what’s about to be said,” Suga clips, leaning forward in his seat as he opens his phone. 

 

“Hell yeah, we do,” Jackson grins, blinking from Namjoon to Suga. “And everyone should be able to say their piece, too. If they want to.” He’s looking in Namjoon’s direction as he speaks, and in the corner of his eye he sees Suga nod in agreement.

 

“Um, what should I...say, then?” Namjoon says fretfully, looking toward Suga’s phone worriedly. His hands are folded all neatly in his lap, but Jackson can clearly see the whites of his knuckles, how tightly he’s squeezing his fingers together.

 

“Whatever you want, I guess?” Jackson suggests flippantly, smiling. Hopefully, he can ease Namjoon into some feeling of comfort, warm him up a little. “Because, hey, this  _ is _ about you, so I mean, your word is our word,” he grins, and his skin feels warm all over when he sees Namjoon smile back.

 

“I’ll help you, trust me,” Suga says reassuringly, moving forward in his seat. “I won’t force you to say anything you don’t want to.”

 

Namjoon swallows, but it seems as though his anxiety has calmed significantly (because of Jackson, or Suga, though?), and he gives a small nod. “Okay, got it,” he says, moving his fingers to rest at his knees.

 

Jackson smiles reassuringly, and Suga nods in return. Jackson turns his attention to the mint haired man as he begins to scroll his phone, and Jackson’s heart begins to beat just a touch faster, because this is actually happening, things are  _ actually _ going to work out, and he’s going to be able to see Namjoon, be with him and --

 

Suddenly, Suga’s phone starts...ringing? Jackson blinks, almost groaning, because of fucking _course_ someone would call at _this_ _exact moment_. Suga is frowning down at his phone, looking more surprised than upset, and Jackson wonders who the fuck found it convenient to call so close to dinnertime (read: so close to the three of them finding salvation).

 

Suga is raising his phone, and Jackson realizes he’s showing him his screen. Jackson squints (because why would Suga show him whatever fucker is calling?), and he nearly chokes as he reads the word  _ ARS _ \-- it’s -- it’s  _ Youngjae _ ?

 

“I dunno,” Jackson says, raising both palms (because really, he honestly doesn’t know why Youngjae is calling Suga).

 

Suga exhales through his nose ( _ hey _ , Jackson’s not  _ lying _ \-- he’d love to know why Youngjae is calling Suga), before turning the screen back toward himself. He taps the screen a few times, probably setting it to speaker mode, placing the phone face up on the coffee table.

 

“Youngjae?” Suga says aloud, flicking his bangs aside. Maybe Youngjae is calling for a loan, or a Favor -- but that wouldn’t make sense, Jackson  _ knows _ that Youngjae hasn’t made any deals with Suga as of late (unless...this has something to do with...Namjoon?).

 

_ “Suga!” _ comes Youngjae’s voice, and Jackson recognizes the tone of his voice -- he’s frantic, worried (but  _ why _ ? What’s so wrong that he has to call  _ Sug _ a?).  _ “I know that things seem... _ bad _ , right now, and I completely understand any murderous desires that have risen from recent events, but I think it’s very important for you to listen to what I’m about to tell you,”  _ he says so quickly, it almost sounds like a few words have been mashed together.

 

Suga blinks. “What?” he says curtly, and honestly, all Jackson has to say is same.

 

_ “Please don’t kill Jackson,” _ Youngjae says, almost the instant Suga speaks, and Jackson almost  _ chokes _ , because  _ what _ \--

 

“What?” Suga repeats, and Jackson is on the verge of laughing.

 

Because this is so out of  _ nowhere _ \-- why does Youngjae feel the need to call Suga to ask him not to kill Jackson? There’s -- there’s no  _ way _ Youngjae knows Jackson is there, and Jackson’s sure as  _ hell _ no one followed them on their drive here.

 

_ “Please, please,  _ please _ do  _ not _ kill Jackson. I know that things have been chaotic and confusing and that Jackson can be a real fucking idiot, but Jackson's not doing anything to try and purposely tick you off, I swear. He might have been acting a little brash, but he's got a huge heart and he's literally the most loving person on the planet, please, for the love of fucking god, don't kill him _ ,” Youngjae splurges (fuck, Jackson knows for a fact he didn’t take any breaths in between sentences), and Suga squints in Jackson's direction. Jackson, who’s trying to hold in his laughter, a hand slapped over his mouth.

 

“I'm not going to kill him, Youngjae,” Suga says, articulating each consonant with surprising sharpness. He rolls his eyes, sighing, “And I'm not planning on killing him.”

 

Jackson smiles appreciatively in Suga’s direction, but all he gets back is a mere eyeroll.

 

_ “I -- wait, really?”  _ Youngjae says, sounding shocked.

 

Jackson watches as Suga runs a hand through his hair, his frustration growing more and more obvious. “Really,” he says, curt. He suddenly throws Jackson a look, adding, “How is it that you even know I'm around Jackson?”

 

And Jackson nods -- how  _ would _ Youngjae know that Jackson is there? Like Jackson said, he  _ knows _ no one followed them (also, it’s really just a rule that you don’t tail other leaders; Jackson breaks that mold though). And then, it suddenly dawns on him -- “Oh! Jaebum lives here; I forgot. Duh; he must’ve seen me drive to your place with Joonie,” he exclaims, sitting upright, unfazed by the half hearted glare Suga sends his way ( _ hey _ , Suga  _ had _ agreed to the whole,  _ anyone saying what the want to say _ concept). 

 

“ _ Does it matter? It was my boyf -- wait, Jackson, you're hearing this? _ ” Youngjae’s voice goes from strained to ten times  _ more _ strained within half a second, and Jackson can clearly make out his look of exasperation.

 

“Wait, Im Jaebum?” Namjoon is saying, seemingly to himself, and he's frowning, looking a little shocked, and also very kissable ( _ seriously _ , his  _ lips _ \-- they’re so --  _ cute _ ). 

 

“Yes! Yes I am. And I've heard every word you've said,” Jackson points at Suga’s phone with triumphant. He folds his arms, pushing his chest out proudly. “I'm so flattered to know you think so highly of me. I mean, I  _ know  _ you love me, but it's so nice to hear -- ”

 

“ _ Jackson Wang, I am going to personally tear your favorite jeans thread by thread and replace all the food in your goddamn kitchen with expired canned tuna the  _ second  _ I bust into your flat! _ ” Youngjae is pretty much yelling, and Jackson blinks, because --

 

“Wh --  _ expired _ canned tuna? How the fuck do you even  _ have  _ that -- ” Jackson splutters, (because  _ seriously _ , who would waste their time and money on that kind of thing?). 

 

“ _ No, you listen to me, Jackson, I swear to fucking god, I'm going to strangle the  _ life _ out of your muscled body, you got it? _ ” Youngjae cuts through, sharper than before, and Jackson (very begrudgingly) shuts his mouth. Jackson can hear Youngjae inhale long and deep, before he continues on in his tangent. _ “Do you know how fucking  _ distraught _ I am? You could have fucking died! God, Jackson, you shouldn't have been messing with Suga’s boyfriend, he's gonna fucking kill you now _ \-- ”

 

“I'm  _ not _ going to kill Jackson,” Suga says tersely, and Jackson’s heart pounds a little harder at the word  _ boyfriend _ . Does Youngjae  _ honestly _ think Namjoon is Suga’s boyfriend? And Jackson almost laughs, because  _ yeah _ , he does; it’s sort of why Jackson’s on probation.

 

“ _ Regardless, there isn't any  _ reasonable _ excuse as to why Jackson's been fucking around with your boyfriend, I'm sorry, I know he's your property,” _ Youngjae is saying, sounding apologetic, and Jackson’s skin prickles at the term  _ property _ \-- fuck, Jackson knows Youngjae doesn’t believe in the whole  _ concept _ of it (because Youngjae  _ definitely _ does not see Jaebum as just property), but still, hearing the insinuation that Namjoon is like a  _ toy _ has Jackson wanting to yell out --

 

“Namjoon is  _ not _ my property,” Suga suddenly says back, so stern that Jackson’s almost ( _ almost _ ) startled, and he sees him gripping his the arm of his chair tight. And Jackson realizes that Youngjae’s misinterpreted Suga and Namjoon’s relationship -- he’d thought that  _ Suga _ believed in the concept of property (and really, if Jackson hadn’t had his... _ talk _ , with Suga, he would have thought the same).

 

Suga inhales loudly, obviously aggravated (when isn’t he, though? The guy needs to relax) “Let me be clear: Namjoon isn't... _ officially _ together with either me, or Jackson,” Suga says, moving to rest his forehead against his palm. “Whatever you think is going on, I can assure you, that's  _ not _ what's going on. There's a reason both Jackson and I are spending time with Namjoon; a reason why we're...being close.”

 

Jackson has to hold back a snicker -- the way Suga words it is so  _ weird _ , and Suga’s expression has  _ awkward _ written all over it. It’s the first time Jackson’s seen him legitimately struggle.

 

Suga glances at Jackson and Namjoon, and Jackson blinks back at him. He’s actually -- interested in what Suga has to say, how he’s going to  _ really _ explain everything (because, hey, at this point, Jackson’s fate is sort of rested in his hands).

 

“As in, Namjoon is attracted to Jackson, and at the same time, is attracted to me,” Suga says, and Jackson almost has to slap a hand over his mouth, because Suga’s treating it all so  _ rigidly _ , as if love has some sort of  _ structure _ (but given the fact that Suga’s never been in a serious relationship, Jackson can sort of understand the misconception). “Jackson isn't...making anything up. It isn't in his head. Namjoon likes him.” 

 

And Jackson blinks -- hearing Suga admit that out loud, that Namjoon likes him -- it’s -- it’s almost  _ liberating _ , and -- and  _ validating _ . Of course, Jackson  _ knows _ what he’s feeling for Namjoon is real, and he knows what Namjoon feels for  _ him _ is real, but to hear Suga say it out loud...it almost sets him to ease, and he’s... _ grateful _ .

 

“... _ Ah _ ,” is Youngjae's quiet response, but he doesn’t ask any questions.

 

“And I don’t  _ own _ Namjoon. We're both leaders, Youngjae, but we don't  _ own _ people. I care about  _ him _ , not about _ having _ him,” Suga sighs, and he turns his eyes to Namjoon, and Jackson can see a faint blush dusting over the apples of his cheeks (what a goddamn  _ angel _ ). “My point is that we want Namjoon to decide. And we're going to let it play out. This is something personal; we're going to keep it personal,” he adds, turning back to his phone. And then, in a steady tone, says,“Got it?”

 

There's a soft sigh on the other end of the line, and Jackson swallows -- this is the verdict (sort of; Jackson would honestly never stop fighting to see Namjoon), this is what’s going to set the stage. Jackson holds his breath, pulse roaring as he awaits Youngjae’s response.

 

“ _ Alright _ ,” Youngjae finally says, and Jackson feels like everything in the world is coming back together, like he’s be  _ freed _ . Elation bursts in the pit of his stomach, and it almost feels like the room’s brightened, and Jackson feels  _ happy _ . “ _ I'm going to warn you, though, that others aren't going to take your...arrangement, very well when they find out about it,” _ Youngjae suddenly adds (Jackson can hardly hear him, though, he’s on cloud fucking nine). 

 

Jackson already knows Youngjae's referring to the other big name gangs -- Exo, S.J., other fuckers -- and how poorly they take inter gang relationships (the fuckers; they’re so  _ inflexible _ ). There’s no way what Jackson will have with Namjoon and Suga will be an exception, and Jackson knows it won't go over lightly if someone discovers anything concerning three of them (hah, putting it that way makes it sound like a threesome again, which it is definitely  _ not _ ). It's not going to be easy, there’s no denying that, and no matter which way they all go about this, there’s bound to be some sort of resistance. But all Jackson really has to say to anyone that gets in their way is --

 

“Fuck them,” Jackson says simply, confidently. It doesn’t  _ matter _ if someone gets into a tizzy over the three of them working stuff out -- it’s  _ none of their fucking business _ .

 

“ _ Jackson, I'm serious. I want you to be happy, but...this is dangerous _ ,” Youngjae says, sounding stressed, but Jackson won’t back down. 

 

“I don't give a fuck,” Jackson says, resolute, before he looks Namjoon right in the eyes. “If it's for Namjoon, I don't care if I get hurt. I don't give a fuck.”

 

There’s a small pause, then, and there’s no movement amongst the three of them. All Jackson really cares about, though, is the way Namjoon’s cheeks flush further, how his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and how his plump lips part just the slightest bit (fuck; Jackson could just  _ kiss him _ ).

 

“You heard him,” Suga suddenly clips, and Jackson almost double takes, because -- because did Suga just  _ agree _ with him? Jackson’s suddenly sitting up straighter, eyeing Suga straight on, but Suga doesn’t look back (but really, holy  _ fuck _ \-- this is -- this is a  _ phenomenon _ ).

 

It's silent for another second, and Jackson honesty wouldn't be surprised if Youngjae had just muted his phone and was just screaming out loud. But there’s there's another sigh, and finally, Youngjae's answering.

 

“ _ I got it, _ ” Youngjae says, voice thick with exhaustion. “ _ I just -- is Namjoon listening to this, too? _ ” 

 

Jackson blinks, a little startled -- of course Namjoon is important (more like, the epitome of importance) to everything, but he’s surprised Youngjae would ask for him.

 

Both Jackson and Suga turn toward Namjoon, and -- god, Namjoon gets this newborn kitten look, almost jumping in his seat at the sound of his name. His eyes dart from Suga's, to Jackson's to the phone, and he's absolutely flustered. Jackson almost laughs; he’s so  _ cute _ , and he wishes he could just reach out and pull him into his arms, give him a sweet kiss and tell him he’s got this, he’s definitely got this.

 

“I -- ” Namjoon stutters, fingers clenched in his lap (so fucking  _ cute _ ). He swallows, pursing his lips. “Yes?” he finishes, looking unsure.

 

“ _ Good _ ,” Youngjae says, and -- oh, now Jackson understands why Youngjae wants him to be listening. “ _ I don't wanna sound too distressing, but Jackson and Suga aren't the only people that will need to watch their backs for as long as...this, goes on, _ ” he goes on to say, and then there's an odd noise, something akin to a muffled grumble. “ _ I'm not threatening you, I swear! I'm just… _ ” a pause, and then, “ _ Please be careful _ .”

 

Namjoon is pursing his lips, blinking and nodding. “I...understand,” he says, slow. Not unsure, but careful. He frowns a little, biting at his lip again. “I...I promise I'll take it seriously. All of us. Everything Jackson and Suga have said is true. I -- um. I. Like both of them. I just...need time,” he says, clearing his throat, swallowing, and Jackson doesn’t miss how his flush spreads down to his collar bones.

 

“ _Great!_ _I'm going to take your word for it,_ ” Youngjae suddenly bursts, and a part of Jackson has a feeling Youngjae hasn’t been sleeping very much as of late. Namjoon seems a little surprised, but he doesn't say anything further. 

 

“Are we finished,” Suga says rather flatly, looking absolutely exhausted (Jackson almost feels bad for him).

 

“ _ Yes, I...I suppose we are, _ ” Youngjae says, and Suga sighs aloud, as if he’s relieved, and Jackson almost does the same, when he remembers --

 

“No! No, we're not,” Jackson nearly yelps, almost leaping from his seat, because no,  _ no way _ are they finished, Jackson still has one thing he has to ( _ needs _ to) fix.

 

“ _ Really, Jackson _ ,” Youngjae laughs, wry.

 

Suga is glowering in Jackson's direction. “What is it,” he says, sounding irritated, but Jackson really doesn’t care at this point, because he  _ needs to have this fixed _ \--

 

“Um, I -- ” Jackson sinks back into his chair, biting at his piercing, and he grins. “Is there...I dunno, any chance that my restriction  _ and _ my probations can be...I dunno,  _ lifted _ ?”

 

And  _ listen _ \-- it’s not  _ that _ unreasonable of a request. Yeah, Jackson’s been kind of ( _ really _ ) disobedient, and he’s been sort of ( _ extremely _ ) reckless, but it’s all thanks to this --  _ misunderstanding _ . A misunderstanding that just so happens to have been cleared up about thirty seconds ago.

 

Suga suddenly sighs. “I...agree, Youngjae,” he says, and --  _ what -- what the fuck -- is -- is Jackson’s hearing broken -- what -- _ “Don't lock him down because of a misunderstanding. And he...should be with Namjoon. Because Namjoon wants to be with him. With both me  _ and _ him.”

 

The words  _ Namjoon _ and  _ with me and him _ ring over and over in Jackson’s ears, looping nonstop, and Jackson can’t -- can’t  _ believe _ Suga just said --  _ that _ \-- out loud. Because -- it’s just --  _ unreal _ , and Jackson almost feels like he can’t breathe.

 

“ _I --_ ” Youngjae says, but he stops, giving a loud sigh. “ _Fine._ _Fine! No restriction, or probations. And I'll give you your phone back. You can run around and talk to Jinyoung and date Namjoon all you want, or however you're...doing it,_ ” Youngjae finally caves, and Jackson -- Jackson can’t _believe_ what he’s hearing. “ _But I'm still going to kick your fucking ass, you hear me, Jackson?_ ” Youngjae adds, tone prickling.

 

Jackson shakes his head, grinning. “Yep, uh huh, one hundred percent, thanks!” he chimes, positively  _ overjoyed _ \-- because it’s  _ happening _ , he can  _ see Namjoon _ , god,  _ he can see Namjoon _ .

 

“ _ You’d better be _ ,” Youngjae grumbles.“ _ I'll be seeing you tomorrow. With an apology, too, I hope.” _

 

“Pft, sure,” Jackson says (but really, if an apology means he gets to see Namjoon all he wants and be able to talk to Jinyoung again, Jackson will write a fucking  _ essay _ for Youngjae). Jackson turns to Suga, mouthing a quiet thank you, because -- really, he’s been a huge part of clearing everything up. Suga just rolls his eyes, and Jackson grins wider.

 

“Night, Youngjae,” Jackson chirps, because it feels like everything that needed to be said has been said (and Jackson  _ swears _ , if Youngjae changes his mind last second --). 

 

“ _ Night, idiot, _ ” is Youngjae's response, and all Jackson does is grin wider. “ _ Night, Suga. And...you, too, Namjoon. _ ”

 

“Oh -- um, g-good night,” Namjoon stutters, looking from Suga to Jackson, back and forth.

 

“Get some rest, Youngjae,” Suga says airily, taking his phone in his hand

 

“ _ After all this? You know I will _ ,” Youngjae snorts, and then the line cuts. 

 

All Jackson can think about is  _ Namjoon _ , how he’s free to be with him -- he can see him smile and hear him laugh, go out on dates with him and hold his hand, and maybe even properly kiss him --

 

Jackson looks Namjoon right in the eyes, heart warming when Namjoon looks back. Of  _ course _ \-- Jackson can kiss him -- god, he can, he can do it, there’s nothing stopping him (although, really, there wasn’t much stopping him before).

 

Jackson’s on his feet before he even realizes it, making his way over toward Namjoon. He’s so  _ gorgeous _ , with his golden skin, lovely dimples, pristine smile, he beautiful  _ lips _ \--

 

Namjoon looks up to Jackson as he approaches, a warm, little smile playing over his lips. “Jackson, I'm so -- ” but he doesn't finish, because Jackson reaches out, cups both sides of his face, and leans in to kiss him on the lips.

 

And  _ oh _ \-- it’s so  _ perfect _ , exactly how Jackson had envisioned it. Warmth blossoms all over Jackson’s skin, eyes closed shut, and it’s like he’s basking in the sun, soaking up its rays. There’s a hint of something sweet about Namjoon; his taste, his touch, his smell. Like strawberries, freshly harvested, maybe.

 

Really, it’s been so  _ long  _ since Jackson’s felt this -- this  _ joy _ , this  _ wonder _ . Really, Jackson should have kissed Namjoon  _ ages _ ago, told him how much he meant to him and how perfect he is. But right now, everything feels  _ perfect _ , divinity in its purest form -- Jackson  _ loves _ it, loves the way Namjoon feels, the way he makes him feel, loves  _ Namjoon _ . 

 

And god, Namjoon’s lips are so soft, absolutely  _ kissable _ , and Jackson never wants to let go --

 

Until Namjoon makes a tiny noise, something small and surprised, and Jackson’s eyes fly open, because --  _ fuck, shit _ \--

 

“Oh, shit, I -- ” Jackson curses, releasing Namjoon’s face and jumping backward. “Fuck, I'm sorry, I should have asked -- I was just so -- so  _ happy _ , ‘cause I -- y’know -- ” he says, gesturing wildly, hoping it’ll help everything make a little more sense (it’s a habit, goddammnit). His face feels  _ hot _ , like he’s blushing,  _ embarrassed _ , and when he whips around to face Suga. “Er, I'm sorry, I know we, uh, just agreed to stuff, but I swear I -- it just sort of. Happened. Haha. Um,” he says, mumbling, scratching at his neck (he’s really not  _ that _ sorry for kissing Namjoon, but still, Suga’s probably not too excited to see Jackson --  _ kiss _ Namjoon).

 

Jackson half expects Suga to fly into rage, burn him down with an icy glare. He half expects Suga to throw him to the ground and demand he leave his house (or maybe even pick him up and throw him out himself). He half expects Suga to walk right up to him, sock him in his face and spit out curses, tell him to  _ Get the fuck out before I beat you until you can’t walk _ .

 

But he...doesn't?

 

“It's fine,” is all Suga says, voice low, and Jackson blinks, because -- is it -- is it  _ really _ fine? With  _ Jackson _ , it’s fine, to a certain degree, because goddamnit, he should have asked Namjoon first ( but with Suga...Jackson doesn’t know).

 

“Er. Yep. So -- ” Jackson drawls, laughing a little, fingers feeling a touch shaky. “Uh, I should...probably go? And stuff? ‘Cause, like, you  _ did _ say that the second this crystal clear, I was out of your house.” 

 

Suga narrows his eyes. “Sure,” he says, curt, but surprisingly, lacking any venom. 

 

So Jackson flashes a peace sign, because. Um. What else is he supposed to do? “Alright, uh,” Jackson wrings his fingers out, glancing from Suga to Namjoon. “I'll wait outside, Joonie, you can take your time. And stuff. Yup. Uh.”

 

Namjoon doesn't say anything for a moment, looking dazed, and for a moment, Jackson’s almost afraid he isn’t breathing, until he gives a hasty nod. “Y-yeah, u-uh, okay. Um, I'll be out in a s-sec,” he stutters, and, ah -- his face is pink, too, his cheeks filling out with a flattering shade of a rosy flush. And his eyes -- pretty, dark brown, alight and glittering with the heartbeats of a thousand stars.

 

_ Gorgeous _ , Jackson thinks, and yeah, he’s definitely staring.

 

“Cool, great,” Jackson whistles, tapping his foot against the floor. He looks back to Suga, still grinning. “So, guess I'll see you around?”

 

Suga shrugs. “Most likely,” he says, sighing.

 

Jackson grins wider. “I'll be sure to text you, sugar,” he says, the words tumbling out on reflex, and it’s only a second later that Jackson realizes -- wait. Uh. Probably. Not the greatest timing.

 

“The door,” Suga clears his throat loudly, eyes lidded. “Is unlocked.”

 

Jackson laughs, because if it’s one thing, that nickname is probably never going to ever  _ not _ irk Suga. “G'night,” he says, before striding across the living room, stopping at the garage door. He looks over his shoulder, giving a quick thumbs up. “Thanks for everything!” he shouts, and he catches the eye roll Suga gives him just before the door slams shut.

 

And then it’s just him in the garage. Alone with his thoughts. Thoughts about Namjoon.  _ Kissing  _ Namjoon.

 

“Fuck, fuck -- ” Jackson breathes, beginning to pace. God, what a  _ night _ it’s been -- he’s definitely not sleeping tonight.

 

\--

 

The sound of the garage door slamming shut almost sounds louder than usual (almost obnoxious, really).

 

Suga rolls his eyes, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Whatever,” he says loudly. He's just relieved that Jackson's out of his fucking house (in his garage, yes, but out of his house).

 

And then it's quiet, which is nice for more reasons than one; mainly because --

 

Namjoon.

 

Suga forces himself to turn his head calmly, leisurely, and he takes in the sight of Namjoon, seated on the couch.

 

Namjoon looks like he's been shocked, lips parted, eyes wide again. His face is still pink, and he has a hand held to his lips, because -- yes, that's. Right. Jackson kissed Namjoon. On the lips. 

 

Suga feels something barbed ripple across his skin at the thought, and he does his best to repress the memory (it’s an image he wants  _ out _ of his head). But he keeps the jealousy at a relative low, because it's just Suga and Namjoon now -- no need to be irritated anymore.

 

Namjoon blinks, as if he's snapped out of a trance. His gaze slides over to match Suga's, and the flush on his face deepens. Suga feels his throat tighten -- Namjoon's so  _ cute _ ; all rounded out and glowing, like something precious (but really, there’s nothing more precious than Kim Namjoon in the world).

 

And then, Namjoon's swallowing. “Ah -- my m-meds,” he says meekly, a little quiet, and Suga frowns.

 

“Your meds?” Suga repeats, confused. Does he need more? Is he still in pain? Is the pain worsening?

 

“They're -- um. They're gone,” Namjoon explains, slipping his hands into the pockets of his pants to demonstrate his lack of medication. 

 

Suga rises from his seat, making his way to the couch. “Well,” he clears his throat. “They couldn't have gone far,” he says, and he's already crouching low, looking beneath the couch (it shouldn't be too difficult to miss a bottle of pills).

 

“Yeah, yeah, s-sorry,” Namjoon is mumbling, as Suga searches the underside of the couch. When he finds nothing, he rises, kneeling, and he finds Namjoon checking beneath the couch cushions, mumbling something to himself, and Suga has to pause to catch his breath.

 

Namjoon is positively  _ adorable _ , brows tented, fingers fumbling with the couch cushions. His bleached hair is a touch messy; unkempt at the base of his scalp, and he's just so  _ gorgeous _ . And...his outfit. An all black color scheme; a loose tee, nice tennis shoes, and the fucking  _ jeans  _ \-- they hug his thighs, muscular and thick, so fucking  _ tight _ ; has Suga struggling to breathe, because he can't stop wondering what it would be like to spread them apart, rub them and have Namjoon writhing --

 

_ Stop it _ , Suga commands silently, digging his fingernails into his palms. But it's  _ difficult _ \-- to not think about Namjoon, pliant beneath his touch. Especially with just Namjoon's entire  _ look _ \-- it's the exact style that gets Suga riled up. From the way Namjoon’s hair is gelled, how his pants are cut at his ankles -- all things that came together to make Suga hungry; wanting. It's almost as if  _ Taehyung _ had dressed Namjoon up, because he was the one that figured out  _ exactly _ what would excite Suga the most (from forever ago, fuck, how long has it been since then?). Really; Suga had been struggling the entire duration of his time with Namjoon at the fair.

 

And the fucking  _ choker _ \-- black, thin, adorning Namjoon's neck so pretty. Suga remembers how he would use it with Taehyung -- but Namjoon isn't Taehyung; soft, bleached hair, perfect dimples, a little shy and more often than not, adorably flustered. He looks  _ chaste _ in the black choker, innocent. Maybe Suga could slip a finger beneath the fabric, tug Namjoon close and kiss him hot and rough until he comes undone --

 

_ Knock it  _ off, Suga closes his eyes. He's being indecent, invasive, and god, if Namjoon heard his thoughts, Suga would end himself on the spot (definitely a blessing that Namjoon wasn't a telepath back at the music festival; Namjoon probably would have fainted).

 

In search of distraction, Suga's eyes fall to Namjoon's lips, and bitterly, wonders how Jackson could have just...just  _ kissed Namjoon so easily _ .  

 

Suga wonders what's going through Namjoon's head; what he's thinking (aside from worrying over the location of his painkillers). Did...did Namjoon like the kiss? Did he like how Jackson kissed him? Was it his  _ first _ kiss? Suga's eyes narrow at that. It would be an absolute fucking  _ shame _ if that was the case. Suga would have made sure Namjoon's first kiss much more memorable than just a mere peck on the lips -- and he would have done it in  _ private _ . 

 

Suga wonders what kind of kisses Namjoon prefers. Slow ones, where lips slide and press, passionate and patient? Or ones with tongue, all heated, sensual? Maybe Namjoon would tangle his hands in Suga's hair, needy, moan into his mouth, Suga's name rolling off of his lips as he begs for  _ more _ \--

 

_No_ , Suga stops himself, he is Not going to go there; _Not_ _going to go there_.

 

But...Suga can't help but wonder...what Namjoon's lips feel like, what he  _ tastes  _ like. If he's active, enthusiastic, or passive, shy. He wonders what it would be like to kiss Namjoon.

 

Namjoon suddenly whirls, facing Suga, and Suga notices he’s kneeling on the ground before him. “Found them,” he says, smiling bashfully, waving his pill bottle a little. Suga stares, gives a tiny nod. His gaze returns to Namjoon's lips, and a part of him tenses.

 

How could Jackson have been so  _ confident _ ? Suga says inwardly. To kiss Namjoon so  _ suddenly _ , on the  _ lips _ , in front of  _ Suga  _ \-- Suga isn't like that. Isn't bold and brave; doesn't just -- just do things like -- like  _ that _ .

 

Namjoon suddenly parts his lips (they're so  _ plush _ ), smile softening. He blinks, and suddenly, his face is turning pink again. Fuck --  _ fuck _ \-- he's so adorable, so gorgeous and _ perfect _ , and Suga could just  _ kiss him _ \--

 

Suga freezes. 

 

Yes -- Suga could...could... _ kiss  _ Namjoon.  _ Kiss Namjoon _ . 

 

Suga takes a quick glance around. They’re alone; and really, Suga doesn't see any reason why he shouldn't kiss Namjoon.

 

So, in silence, Suga concurs that if Jackson can be confident, then Suga can be confident, too.

 

Namjoon purses his (very kissable) lips. “S-suga, I'm so -- ” he starts, but Suga doesn't let him finish.

 

Suga slips his fingers beneath Namjoon's chin, takes him by the jaw with one hand, pulls him down close (even while they're both kneeling, he's taller than Suga), and Suga lets his eyes fall shut, takes that leap of faith --

 

\-- and he  _ kisses _ Namjoon.

 

Their lips touch so gently, so tender, but Suga feels Namjoon all the same. And god -- Namjoon feels perfect -- his lips are pillowy, so fucking  _ soft _ ;  _ perfect _ in every way possible. It's so wonderful, has Suga never wanting to part, and he doesn't remember ever feeling this euphoric in one, simple, kiss to the lips. 

 

Suga inhales -- up so close, he can smell something sweet; fruity. Strawberries? Yes, Namjoon smells like strawberries, an aroma similar to the cupcake he’d had presented Suga at the beach. 

 

Suga tilts Namjoon's head, angles himself in the kiss, because he wants to sense Namjoon  _ deeper _ . And he wonders -- does Namjoon taste like strawberries?

 

Suga runs his tongue over Namjoon's lower lip, sensual, slow, and  _ yes _ \-- there's the slight touch of cotton candy, strawberry flavored, left over on Namjoon's lips, so sweet and so pure. Suga wants to do it again.

 

And then, Namjoon makes a small noise, and it almost sounds like a soft, little keen, and he isn't pulling or pushing away, only shuddering beneath Suga's tongue and touch, and yes --  _ yes _ ; Suga wants to do it again, wants to kiss Namjoon harder, wants to push him back against the couch, wants to taste him  _ more _ \--

 

But the noise reminds Suga of Namjoon's likely inexperience, and that no -- Suga can't go too fast. Namjoon is special; needs to be cared for, and Suga doesn't want to rush with him (in a...weird way. Suga's still impatient). And goddamnit, Suga should have at least  _ asked _ Namjoon if it was okay to kiss him.

 

So Suga pulls away, slow, careful, lips still carrying the wonderful memory of Namjoon's. His fingertips linger over Namjoon's skin, cradling his jaw. He opens his eyes, finding Namjoon's lashes fluttering, face flushed, brows slightly tented, lips parted, looking right back at Suga, and  _ fuck _ \-- it's so fucking  _ tempting _ to move right back into Namjoon's space, kiss him  _ raw _ , but he doesn't.

 

A part of him feels an intense surge of satisfaction -- he’s just passed Jackson’s level in terms of Kissing Namjoon ™, but there’s also a wave of uncertainty, because Namjoon is probably not alright with Suga just --  _ kissing him _ , and he’s probably thinking of --

 

“Hey, Joonie, I just wanted to ask if you -- were…” 

 

It’s fucking  _ Jackson _ , waltzing right back into the living room, and he’s leapt past the couch, and Suga fucking freezes. Namjoon turns his head to look up at Jackson, and  _ fuck _ \-- he’s all flushed and breathing a little hard, and yes, it’s one of the most beautiful things Suga’s ever seen in his entire fucking life, but there’s also  _ no fucking way it isn’t obvious that Suga just fucking kissed him _ .

 

“...still hungry, ‘cause I have some money on me, but -- uh,” Jackson actually seems at a loss for words, looking at Namjoon, and then to Suga.  _ God _ ;  _ why the fuck _ is Jackson here? All Suga wanted was to kiss Namjoon in private, hadn’t wanted anyone except the two of them to see it, but  _ here’s Jackson fucking Wang _ , gawking like he’s just seen someone kissing for the first time in their life.

 

It’s been a long time since Suga’s wanted to die this badly.

 

“Okay, so, I know that this might seem like voyeurism, but I  _ swear to god _ , I did  _ not _ mean to just crash in like this, uh, um -- ” Jackson is laughing, and with every pinprick of strength, Suga wills himself not to fucking blush, because  _ no _ ,  _ not now _ , not while  _ Jackson’s _ here. Jackson would probably think Suga’s never kissed anyone ever, probably laugh at him more, and Suga is  _ way _ too fucking tired (and maybe a little very much embarrassed) to deal with more absurd laughs from Jackson. 

 

And,  _ listen _ \-- Suga’s not some smooth-talking, completely unrealistic love interest from movies; he can’t just grin smugly and tell Jackson,  _ Get on my level _ , and then proceed to kiss the living daylights out of Namjoon -- despite the fact that he would very much love to do the latter.

 

Jackson bites at his piercing, and after a brief squint, he blinks. “Did you use tongue?” he asks, and the way he says it is so  _ genuinely curious _ that Suga feels like he could very literally vaporize Jackson with just one glare (or vaporize himself; that would be just as helpful). Fuck if Suga made a deal with this imbecile in the past hour; Suga wants to kill something.

 

Namjoon’s face is turning an absolutely adorable shade of pink, and Suga can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “I -- he -- you --  _ w-we’re --  _  ” Namjoon stutters, incoherent, and if Suga were to be honest with himself, that accurately summarizes both their current states of being.

 

“Sorry!” Jackson suddenly slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, and  _ amazing _ \-- why can’t Jackson regret what he says more often? Maybe he could even learn to watch what he says before he even opens his mouth; that’s a nice thought (although, considering who Suga’s referring to, it’s also probably impossible). 

 

“So I’m -- gonna be outside, and stuff. Yep. Um. Okay? Great, see ya!” he’s laughing again, before turning on heel and speed walking straight through Suga’s garage door.

 

Suga and Namjoon are left alone again, which is wonderful, but also now Suga has to deal with the fact that Jackson’s pretty much  _ seen _ them kiss, and Namjoon looks like his mind is going into overdrive, blinking rapidly as he turns to Suga.

 

_ Thanks a fucking lot, Jackson _ , Suga mutters to himself, because he can feel himself beginning to lose the battle of Don’t Blush Like a Fucking Idiot. 

 

Suga doesn’t know what the fuck to say now, even with Namjoon looking at him  _ desperately _ , lips still parted, and Suga wants to shut his eyes and tell Namjoon to Not look at him like that, because it’s going to run straight to -- yeah, it’s obvious enough what Suga’s implying. 

 

“S-so -- u-uh -- ” Namjoon is stuttering again, sounding choked up. Suga wants to take his hand and tell him everything’s fine, but given recent events, it would most likely only worsen Namjoon’s level of stress. Suga doesn’t regret kissing Namjoon, not a single fucking bit, but of  _ course _ Jackson had to go and blow everything to pieces.

 

Suga still doesn’t know what to say. Is he supposed to apologize? He wouldn’t really be being honest, though, because, as previously stated, he doesn’t regret kissing Namjoon. He could apologize on Jackson’s behalf, but that would be ridiculous, because Suga isn’t going to apologize for  _ Jackson’s _ fuck ups.

 

So Suga clears his throat ( _fuck_ \-- he can still feel Namjoon’s lips beneath his). “Yes,” he says, as coolly as he can humanly muster. He’s almost impressed with how well he follows through, considering how much of a frenzy he’s currently in.

 

Namjoon doesn’t stop looking at Suga with those eyes, and Suga has a feeling they’re getting dangerously close to  _ that _ point. 

 

“U-um -- ” Namjoon purses his lips, and Suga’s about to flat out  _ disappear _ . “G-good n-night? I -- I-I g-guess?” he says, as if he’s asking if it’s the right thing to say (sadly, Suga doesn’t have an answer for him).

 

Suga coughs into his knuckles, swallowing. “Yeah. Good night, Namjoon,” he says, feeling dead inside. He couldn’t sound  _ any _ more indifferent, could he?

 

Namjoon blinks, before nodding hurriedly, the flush coloring his face deepening (too fucking  _ cute _ ). “Y-yeah, good n-night,” he repeats himself, slowly rising to his feet (he’s shaking so much that Suga’s worried he’s going to trip the second he takes a step).

 

Suga nods back, standing upright himself, and as he takes in Namjoon’s stature, shoulders huddled and fingers clenched, he almost wants to smile. Namjoon’s much taller than him, but it still feels like it’s Suga with the added height. 

 

“S-see you,” Namjoon mumbles, glancing up at Suga, before stiffly turning and heading for the garage door.

 

“See you,” Suga calls back, level. He watches as Namjoon steps toward the garage door, and he’s surprised to see him pause.

 

“U-um,” Namjoon is turning to look at Suga, frowning, like he’s worried. “S-so I’ll still see y-you F-fridays, and stuff, right? I mean, I’m -- I’m going back t-to work this week, s-so -- um,” he asks, biting at his lower lip, and Suga blinks.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of missing out on you,” Suga says, and he realizes how disgusting cliche it sounds barely a second after the words have left his mouth. He wants to cringe, but he keeps his facials calm, only allowing a soft smile as he looks back at Namjoon.

 

“O-oh,” Namjoon breathes, and suddenly his eyes light up. “Cool, okay, ah -- ” he says, words chipped, before he waves. “U-uh, good night, S-suga -- !” he calls out, before stepping into the garage.

 

“Night,” Suga echoes back, staring at the garage door as it closes. He stays rooted to the spot, waiting until he hears the sound of Namjoon’s car starting up right and then pulling away (Jackson had  _ better _ be fucking driving -- Namjoon still might be in pain).

 

He’s motionless for a few seconds longer, trying to process the series of events that had played out in just a matter of  _ hours _ . Everything’s swirling together, disorienting and fatiguing, but the one thing that stands out to Suga is --

 

\-- the ghost sensation of Namjoon’s soft, plush lips, the noise he made as Suga slid his tongue over his lower lip, the way he looked at Suga after they parted, how he stared at Suga after Jackson had left, how his eyes had turned so bright when he finally stepped out to join Jackson --

 

_ God fucking damnit _ , Suga curses to himself. He’s fucking  _ hard  _ now, and he’s beginning to envision himself and Namjoon in --  _ certain situations _ . Those of which involve kissing and a lot more than just a couple of touches to Namjoon’s thighs and --  _ ugh _ .

 

Suga resolves that he’s going to take a fucking shower, because he can’t believe how ridiculously juvenile he’s being (or  _ has _ been; this isn’t the first time this has happened). He beelines his way toward his bathroom, stripping as quickly as fucking possible, because  _ fucking  _ \-- he has a problem, and he needs it to fucking  _ stop _ .

 

\-- 

 

It would be an understatement to say that Namjoon’s feeling a little off.

 

Because Namjoon is in fucking  _ chaos _ (he feels like chaos incarnate most of the time, though) -- he can’t think straight (pun maybe not intended), he can’t write without breaking his pencil lead (three led packs he’s had to buy!  _ Three _ !), he can barely even  _ write _ , and he sure as  _ hell  _ can’t get more than three hours of sleep a night. 

 

Namjoon’s just an absolute fucking mess; at home, obviously inciting Hoseok’s motherly wrath, wherein he interrogates Namjoon every second he so much as drops a pencil, and even now, at work. His third shift of the week, and Jinyoung’s own motherly wrath has long since been unleashed. 

 

Currently, Namjoon feels like he’s been put under surveillance --  the _second_ that Namjoon starts to space out, Jinyoung’s there, clapping his hands right in front of Namjoon’s face. He’d ask, _What’s with you_? Or _Is your shoulder hurting_?, and it barely took an hour for Jinyoung to switch from being inquisitive to being _demanding_ , and he keeps bringing Namjoon water.

 

Namjoon does his best to avoid Jinyoung’s incessant staring and endless questioning, trying to regain at least a semblance of focus back with his work, handling cappuccinos and iced teas. He’s doing terrible with speed, but it’s not surprising, given that his shoulder’s fucked up, his life’s fucked up, and also, he hasn’t been at work in  _ forever _ . Namjoon just wants a fucking  _ break _ ; he wants to think, but at the same time, not, because he’s probably going to break his mind into a million pieces if he even tries.

 

Except,  _ both _ Jinyoung and Hoseok are here, talking and talking and talking, and they won’t stop asking Namjoon what’s wrong, and  _ god fucking dammit _ , they’re making Namjoon think even  _ more _ . Jinyoung’s been more lenient with the questions this shift, but Hoseok keeps calling out at Namjoon, asking what’s up -- but Namjoon can’t give in; can’t explain himself.

 

And when Namjoon says explain himself, he’s referring to the fact that -- that -- that Jackson -- and Suga  _ kissed _ him --  _ on the lips _ \--

 

Namjoon slides a macchiato over the takeout counter, calling the name hoarsely. He gives a semi smile to the little girl that reaches up to take it, and once she’s gone, turns around and buries his face in his hands. 

 

_ Jackson and Suga kissed me _ , Namjoon screams in the silence of his own mind, and his face feels warm against his palms.  _ On the  _ lips -- _ they kissed me on the fucking  _ lips.

 

“Joon!” Hoseok is calling, and Namjoon jolts, letting his hands slid off of his face as he turns to face Hoseok. Hoseok is sipping on his espresso, squinting in Namjoon’s direction. “Joon, are you  _ sure _ that you don’t wanna say what’s wrong? ‘Cause it looks like it’s getting serious,” Hoseok sighs, resting an elbow against the counter.

 

“Nothing is wrong!” Namjoon nearly yelps, snagging his arms to his sides. “Absolutely -- _nothing_ \-- is -- w-wrong,” he says with emphasis. And, for the most part, Namjoon is telling the truth; there’s nothing _wrong_ with the fact that Jackson and Suga had _kissed Namjoon_ _on the_ _lips_ \-- except for the fact that _Jackson and Suga kissed Namjoon on the lips_ and Namjoon is _dying_ , because _what is he supposed to do now_?

 

Hoseok probably frowns at Namjoon, but Namjoon is quick to turn back to the sink, shoving his hands beneath the tap and washing his hands. He slides his fingers over his palms, trying to distract himself from the thought of  _ them _ , and  _ that _ , but he can’t --

 

Jackson had given him his first kiss. Was the first human being in  _ existence _ (disregarding any and all family members of Namjoon’s) to have ever pressed their lips to Namjoon’s, and  _ god _ \-- did it have Namjoon seeing stars. 

 

But really, Namjoon was  _ definitely _ not prepared, in the slightest, for Jackson to have just stood up and marched right over to Namjoon, take his face in his hands, and then  _ kiss him on the lips _ . Namjoon was about to tell Jackson he was so happy for Jackson, that he was relieved that he could actually be able to do --  _ stuff _ \-- but he didn’t really get the chance, because Jackson had sort immediately kissed him right on the lips. 

 

It was quick, but Namjoon remembers everything in crisp, high definition detail -- the feeling of Jackson’s hands holding the sides of his face with a certain sureness, seeing Jackson lean in, eyes closed. Namjoon remembers the soft flame that kindled in Namjoon’s stomach as he felt his lips press against his.

 

Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his jaw as a strangled noise wrenches itself from his throat. It was Namjoon’s  _ first kiss _ \-- his  _ first kiss _ \--

 

And then Jackson has bolted, straight for the car, and when they had driven home (Jackson insisting that he drive), Jackson had burst into apology the second Namjoon had slid into the passenger seat. He told Namjoon he was so fucking sorry, that he should have asked, and that he didn’t mean to have just charged him so suddenly. Namjoon had to wait until Jackson paused to breathe in deep to finally cut in, telling Jackson it was okay, that it was  _ definitely _ okay. 

 

That hadn’t really calmed Jackson’s nerves, and he kept on asking Namjoon if he was really okay with it, if he was just saying it to make Jackson feel better, if he was actually upset with Jackson, and Namjoon just couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut and he -- he blurted out that it was his first kiss (he hadn’t meant to, the thought just kept spinning around in his head!).

 

_ That _ pretty much set Jackson’s nerves on  _ fire _ , and immediately, Jackson was apologizing all over again, saying how fucking sorry he was, how he was a  _ criminal _ for making Namjoon’s first kiss so fucking awful (which, it really wasn’t? It left Namjoon feeling shocked, sure, but it was? Sweet?). 

 

“Do you want a refund? Like, a First Kiss refund? Oh my god, oh my god, I’m such an  _ ass _ \-- all I gave you was  _ peck on the lips _ \-- and I didn’t even  _ ask _ \-- holy  _ fuck _ \-- ” Jackson had rambled, continuing to apologize with no end in sight (Namjoon was amazed at how he could talk so much without crashing the car).

 

“No,  _ no  _ \-- Jackson, it was fine -- it was  _ great _ ,” Namjoon had sworn, resting his palm on Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson had blinked, pulling at his piercing with alarming force, and again, Namjoon couldn’t keep his stupid fucking mouth shut for just a second longer (but he felt like he had to soothe Jackson further! And trying to be funny was the one way Namjoon thought would work with Jackson). “I mean, it’s not like I really have anything t-to compare -- it...to…”

 

And Namjoon stopped right fucking there, had wanted to curl up in his seat and vanish into thin air, because  _ yeah _ , Namjoon  _ did _ have something to compare it to -- he had  _ Suga’s _ kiss.

 

Jackson had only been stopped for a heartbeat, and then he’d gone right back to saying he was  _ So fucking sorry, I’m the worst human being on the planet _ \-- 

 

Namjoon swallows, drying his hands before he turns back to the front counter. There’s no one in line, which is  _ wonderful _ (read:  _ terrible _ ), because now Namjoon gets to recount Suga’s kiss.

 

Namjoon was a  _ mess  _ after Jackson had kissed him, mind and heart racing so fucking fast, he was sure he was on the verge of passing out. Suga was looking at Namjoon, and after Namjoon had found his meds, he was  _ still _ looking at Namjoon, and Namjoon had no idea what he was thinking, could only guess that Suga was feeling upset, or confused.

 

Namjoon had meant to tell Suga that he hadn’t made his choice yet (because Kim Namjoon is a Terrible Human Being™), wanted to tell Suga he was still thinking, but then he stopped thinking, because Suga had his fingers beneath his  _ chin _ , and then at his  _ jaw _ , was pulling Namjoon close, and then he  _ kissed him _ . 

 

It was so sudden, just like with Jackson, and Namjoon was just as starstruck. He’s fairly certain he was rendered immobile, could only register that _Suga’s_ _lips are touching mine, oh god, he’s kissing me on the_ lips. 

 

And then Suga had tipped Namjoon’s head to the side a little, and then he was running his  _ tongue _ over Namjoon’s lower lip, and --

 

“Oh my god,” Namjoon says to himself aloud (still no line, so there’s no one here to witness Namjoon’s fall), because he remembers how slow Suga moved his tongue, how -- how  _ sensual  _ it felt. It had Namjoon feeling light, floaty, and -- and Namjoon made the most  _ pathetic _ noise, too, and then Suga had pulled away, and was _ looking _ at him again.

 

Namjoon doesn’t want to compare Jackson and Suga’s kisses, but they were so vastly... _ different _ , and it’s hard not to think about how undeniably opposite Jackson’s kiss was to Suga’s. Namjoon looks around to ensure no one’s staring, and once he sees that Hoseok and Jinyoung are talking with each other, he recounts both kisses.

 

Jackson’s lips were smooth, warm, his palms cupping Namjoon’s face. Namjoon had definitely felt Jackson’s piercing touch the corner of his mouth, cool, edgeless. He kissed him swift; left a feeling of deep seated shock that shook Namjoon to his core. Namjoon was left speechless, skin warm with some fuzzy feeling that made it hard to think. 

 

Suga’s lips, on the flipside, were chapped, cool, and he had cradled Namjoon’s jaw with just one hand. The kiss was smooth, patient, lips moving over Namjoon’s in just the barest movements. And then there was  _ tongue _ , sliding across Namjoon’s lower lip, and Namjoon felt as though he had been frozen, paralyzed by sensation. Namjoon was breathless, shuddering as they parted.

 

And then Namjoon wants to  _ scream _ , because he realizes that he genuinely liked --  _ loved _ \--  _ both _ kisses, and because he’s a Terrible Human Being™, he finds that he lacks any preference between them. On one hand, Namjoon had felt like he’d been wrapped up in sunshine, warm all over, an on the other, he’d felt like he’d just be touched by something wintry, goosebumps rising all over his skin.

 

Okay, maybe that was a little disgustingly romantic, but Namjoon is beyond caring about anything that doesn’t contribute to him  _ knowing what the fuck he should do. _ He’d asked both Jackson and Suga if they would swing by on Friday (because, hey, Namjoon’s finally working), and both had said yes. Which is wonderful; Namjoon can maybe attempt to get his shit together -- except, nope, not like this, with this entire --  _ thing _ \--

 

“Namjoon.”

 

Namjoon makes a choking sound, probably meaning to tell Jinyoung that  _ I’m okay! I am okay! _ , but clearly, something went wrong in the moment that Namjoon whirls to face Jinyoung. Jinyoung, whose arms are folded, eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. 

 

“Y...eah?” Namjoon clears his throat, pretending to rub his eyes in a futile attempt to cover the flush he can feel spreading across his cheeks ( _ ugh _ \-- he’s been so  _ blushy _ as of late, and it’s fucking  _ terrible _ ).

 

Jinyoung tilts his head forward, scrutiny intensifying as he continues to stare, and Namjoon kind of flinches (goddammit -- Namjoon is  _ taller _ than Jinyoung; he shouldn’t be intimidated by him). Namjoon feels sort of... _ cornered _ , and Jinyoung’s got this weird look in his eye that has Namjoon feeling too antsy, like Jinyoung can see Namjoon’s flush straight through his hands.

 

“Tomorrow,” Jinyoung clips, and Namjoon freezes, because  _ what is this, what is going on, what is Jinyoung doing  _ \-- “We’re having lunch.”

 

“The three of us are,” Hoseok adds, waving in Namjoon’s direction with his signature  _ Not Doing Anything Wrong! _ Grin (it’s a look Namjoon has, regrettably, come to know very well). 

 

And Namjoon would be fine with this declaration -- honestly, one hundred and two percent okay, because it’s been ages since the three of them have done anything so casual together -- if it wasn’t for the fact that Hoseok just  _ gave Jinyoung the plotting stare _ , what the fuck is going on. 

 

“O...kay,” Namjoon says, trying for a casual smile. Better to play it cool, than... _ not _ cool. “That sounds nice.”

 

Jinyoung shoots Namjoon a catty grin, and all Namjoon can think is  _ Oh fuck _ ,  _ what the Fuck _ . “And you’re going to fess up, Namjoon. To the both of us,” Jinyoung is saying, and  _ wait _ \--

 

“What,” Namjoon says lamely. It’s almost as if -- as if Jinyoung  _ knows _ that --

 

And Namjoon wants to  _ die _ , because of  _ fucking course _ Jinyoung knows -- he probably  _ has  _ known (he’s one of Jackson’s closest friend’s, for fuck’s sake). Jinyoung’s probably heard  _ all about _ the --  _ things _ \-- at least, from Jackson’s point of view. Namjoon can’t even be mad, though -- he kind of wishes he was like Jackson, and that he wouldn’t be scared to talk about anything. 

 

But the realization still doesn’t mollify the absolute  _ mortification _ that Namjoon’s feeling, because  _ Jinyoung knows _ ,  _ he fucking knows and he didn’t say anything _ .

 

“You -- I’m -- ” Namjoon tries to ask how Jinyoung knew about this, at the same time trying to tell Jinyoung he’s kind of maybe having a crisis over this,  _ why didn’t you help me _ , and ends up saying nothing, the air leaving his lungs. 

 

“Huh, looks like my shift’s done,” Jinyoung sighs with practiced nonchalance. Namjoon tugs his phone out, peeking at the time, and -- god fucking dammit, it is the end of Jinyoung’s shift,  _ the fucker _ \-- “Four Minute Sushi, twelve forty five,” Jinyoung chirps, too merry, and he’s ducking beneath the counter. He turns, pinning Namjoon with another squint. “And you had  _ better _ show, Kim Namjoon.”

 

Namjoon wants to crumple to the floor, because  _ no _ , Jinyoung really  _ does _ want Namjoon to talk about the  _ Things _ ? How is Namjoon supposed to describe kisses to other people? Isn’t it --  _ private _ ? Personal?  _ Nobody else’s fucking business _ ? And -- fuck.  _ Fuck _ \--  _ Hobi’s _ going to be there, Namjoon is going to have to tell  _ Hobi _ that he had his first kiss -- Hobi is so going to kick his fucking ass. 

 

Namjoon chances a glance in Hoseok’s direction, swallowing, and Hoseok looks right back, grinning.  _ God _ , Namjoon can already hear Hoseok screaming,  _ What the fuck! _ And  _ Kim Namjoon, you  _ traitor _ , how could you not tell me?  _ Me, _ your best and closest friend ever _ , and Namjoon dies a little more when Hoseok flashes him a peace sign.

 

“Jinyoung’s paying, by the way,” Hoseok mumbles, wiping at his mouth with his wrist. He says it like it’s supposed to make things better, and Namjoon could laugh hysterically, because  _ who gives a fuck if Jinyoung’s paying _ (Namjoon does, actually; college is expensive) when you still have to fucking  _ talk about your first two kisses _ .

 

“You okay, Joon?” Hoseok is frowning at Namjoon, and Namjoon realizes he’s been staring mutely at the tiled floor for the past ten straight seconds.

 

“No.” Namjoon is surprisingly honest. Or -- no,  _ no _ , Hobi is gonna  _ flip _ \-- “I mean -- yeah -- sort of. Maybe?”

 

Hoseok gives Namjoon a disbelieving stare, eyebrows set in a frown, but  _ thankfully _ , smiles, and doesn’t delve further for any more information. He pushes away from the counter, sipping some more of his espresso. “‘Kay, well, I gotta book it -- call me if you need somethin’. Probably gonna be out for the night,” he says, waving at Namjoon.

 

Namjoon bites at his lips; Hobi  _ being out for the night  _ can only mean -- “Date night with Taehyung?” he guesses, blinking.

 

Hoseok laughs, smirking. “Yeah, ‘ _ Date night with Taetae _ ,’” he echoes, and oh -- oh fuck.

 

“ _ Dude _ ,” Namjoon almost chokes, because wow, he really should have seen that coming.

 

“ _ Dude _ ,” Hoseok repeats mockingly, sticking his tongue out. “I promise you aren’t gonna walk in on anything, we’re gonna crash at his place and then -- ”

 

“ _ Hobi _ ,  _ for fuck’s sake _ ,” Namjoon groans frustratedly, feeling himself begin to flush again. He has absolutely no interest  _ whatsoever _ in whatever the fuck Hoseok and Taehyung are going to be doing tonight --  _ literally _ .

 

“ -- watch movies and stuff, chill, Joon,” Hoseok rolls his eyes, still grinning (he’s probably cackling on the inside). He pushes the door open, giving Namjoon one last wave. “Anyways, later!”

 

“Later,” Namjoon says flatly, not even bothering to wave. 

 

Fantastic. At least now, Namjoon’s left alone with his own terrible, awful thoughts, and he can suffer all by himself without having to worry about being interrupted. Meaning he can wallow in his own self disgust and misery for the next few hours -- just fucking  _ fantastic _ .

 

\--

 

Namjoon feels like he’s going to throw up.

 

Okay, so he isn’t  _ that _ nauseous -- but the fact that he’s being thinking about nothing but --  _ things _ \-- for the past near  _ week _ , with the additive that he’s actually going to  _ talk _ about said -- _ things _ \-- doesn’t produce a healthy feeling Namjoon. It does, however, have Namjoon feeling like his heart is stuck in his throat, and thank god it’s Hobi that’s driving, because Namjoon probably would have driven into a tree by now.

 

Hoseok’s talking the whole drive, changing the song approximately every thirty seconds, and Namjoon just tunes everything out, opting to focus on the stupid tear in his jeans, and wondering how the fuck it got there. He also focuses on trying to organize how he’s going to tell Hoseok and Jinyoung (although the latter undoubtedly already knows) about the  _ things _ , because, oops, stayed up until two in the morning and forgot about that shit.

 

When they pull up in front of the restaurant, Jinyoung’s already sitting outside, and Namjoon makes the mistake of making eye contact with him, because now Jinyoung’s giving him the  _ Bitch I know what you’re up to  _ smile, waving at him. Namjoon waves back, but only because Jinyoung would have him in a chokehold the second Namjoon stepped out if he’d ignored him (not that it’s happened before, but Namjoon can never be  _ too _ safe).

 

Namjoon waits until Hoseok’s stepped out of the car, trailing after him as they make their way over to Jinyoung. It’s not that Namjoon’s  _ scared _ of Jinyoung (actually a lie) -- he’s just scared of talking about  _ things _ out loud. Even if Jinyoung probably already knows about everything.

 

It’s Hoseok that sits first, speaks first. “You already ordered?” he observes, dropping down into his chair. Namjoon follows shortly, keeping his gaze low as he takes his own seat (at least he isn’t  _ directly _ facing either Hoseok and Jinyoung).

 

“Wanted to finish eating as soon as possible,” Jinyoung explains with a shrug, and Namjoon’s eyes shoot over to his, horrified. It almost feels like Jinyoung just doesn’t want to make anything easier for Namjoon.

 

Jinyoung smiles at him, carrying nothing but false innocence. Namjoon is beginning to feel nauseous again.

 

Namjoon eats in absolute silence, if what he does is even considered eating. He hasn’t kept track, but he’s eaten around three rolls, while Jinyoung and Hoseok have devoured whole platefuls, sharing a long exchange concerning the intelligence of cats. Normally, Namjoon would be completely on board with such an open ended topic -- in fact, he can see himself asking Jackson for his opinion on the subject -- fuck.

 

Namjoon’s lack of participation is more than noticeable; there’s no  _ way _ Hoseok hasn’t caught onto something, but all Hoseok gives him is a few glances, instead of a piece of his mind. Namjoon doubts that Jinyoung’s told him anything, has only baited him into wanting to pry the information from Namjoon himself. Which is  _ great _ . Thanks, Jinyoung.

 

The food’s gone in no time flat, and Namjoon can practically hear the sound of his own impending doom as Hoseok sets his napkin down on the table. And then Jinyoung looks right at Namjoon, smug smirk still in full flash, and Namjoon kind of chokes.

 

“So,” Jinyoung starts, sitting back in his chair, like he’s about to watch some drama unfold. “Namjoon. I think it’s time.”

 

Namjoon hesitates, because a) is he  _ really _ about to do this? In  _ public _ ? Surely, Hoseok is going to scream his lungs out when Namjoon spills, attracting the attention of everyone within a thirty foot radius, and b) he actually doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to say,  _ what the fuck is he going to say _ . And also, it isn’t like he can play dumb; Jinyoung knows  _ exactly _ what it’s time for, and Namjoon does, too.

 

“Yeah, um,” Namjoon swallows, looking off to the side, meek (he could run for it. He could definitely run for it. He could run for his car, and he could get the fuck out of here). 

 

“Yeah, c’mon, Joon,” Hobi says encouragingly, leaning forward in his seat. He purses his lips, before whispering, “I actually dunno what’s even going on, but it must be whatever’s been bothering you as of late.”

 

And Namjoon realizes that he probably  _ couldn’t _ make a run for it, because Jinyoung  _ knows _ where he lives, and he fucking lives  _ with _ Hobi. He’s been cornered, all thanks to Park fucking Jinyoung.

 

Jinyoung doesn’t say anything more, just folds his arms and stares at Namjoon. He’s just fucking  _ waiting _ .

 

“So...recently...I…” Namjoon says, biting nervously at his lip. God, what fuck, they’re both staring so fucking intensely at him, like he’s about to cough up the latest gossip on some pop idol scandal. 

 

“Recently…?” Hoseok echoes, pressing his lips together. He’s calm right now, but Namjoon’s pretty sure that’s going to change real fucking quick.

 

“I...er, was...um...at a friend’s place…” Namjoon picks at the first words that come to mind. Clarity feels nonexistent at this point, and oh,  _ fuck no _ \-- he’s starting to think of the  _ things _ again, all over -- of Jackson and Suga and their touch and their  _ lips _ \--

 

Jinyoung keeps staring at him, expectant, and _ god fucking dammit _ , fine -- Namjoon is going to die someday, why not die today?

 

“ _ AndIwasgivenmyfirstandsecondkissonthelips _ ,” Namjoon blurts out, nearly falling out of his chair.  _ There _ \-- it’s been  _ said _ \-- now Namjoon can go curl up and die, maybe reincarnate into a dog or tree and never have to deal with shit like this again.

 

Of course, Hoseok understands him word for fucking word, but Namjoon shouldn’t really be surprised, considering how long they’ve known each other. He’s gone absolutely still, and Namjoon can already hear the screaming.

 

“I’m sorry, you were given your first two kisses on the lips?” Hoseok says, frowning. Namjoon can see his hands placed firmly on the arms of his chair, tensing a little.

 

“...Maybe,” Namjoon shrugs, looking off at the pavement. Maybe if he just slipped and fell on his face, broke his nose, then Hoseok would drop everything, let Namjoon carry on with his life. No screaming, no accusations, no finger pointing --

 

“ _ Kim Namjoon _ \-- ” Hoseok looks livid as he grips his chair tighter. Namjoon ducks his chin, cheeks flushing with shame (because yeah, he’s held out on Hoseok for way too long), and also embarrassment, because --  _ things _ . “ _ Explain yourself _ \-- now.”

 

Namjoon looks to Jinyoung, and of course, Jinyoung’s still just flat out grinning. His expression doesn’t change at all, even as Namjoon does his best to give  _ SOS  _ eyes.  _ Typical _ , Namjoon says to himself bitterly _. _

 

“I -- ” Namjoon swallows, biting at his lower lip. “When I went to the music festival -- last weekend, you know how I ran into Suga and Jackson -- ” he pauses, because this is as far as he’s gotten with Hoseok -- telling him that he saw both Suga and Jackson at the fair. Presumably, Jinyoung is already fully aware of Suga’s attendance (and the  _ thing _ ). It takes Namjoon a second to also realize that both Hoseok and Jinyoung are the reasons Namjoon had seen either Suga and Jackson; they’d both tipped them off, respectively. That’s. What. The fuck.

 

Hoseok’s face goes blank, probably already connecting the dots between Suga and Jackson with first and second kiss. “And?” Hoseok says, tone a little too calm for Namjoon’s comfort.

 

Namjoon clears his throat, doing his best to ignore the burning stare being tossed his way from Jinyoung.  “And -- we all sort of -- c-congregated at Suga’s place, and, um, we…” Namjoon hesitates; it’s probably not the best idea to say anything about the phone call, or anything remotely gang related (even if Jinyoung and Hoseok are semi involved themselves; Namjoon doesn’t want  _ anyone _ else to get hurt). “...were sort of just -- hanging out? And -- ”

 

“ _ Wait _ \-- Suga  _ and _ Jackson? In the same place? I thought you told me they were like, winter and summer, though; like no  _ way _ that they’d be able to survive with one another in one room,” Hoseok interjects, uncharacteristically interruptive (though, given how Namjoon’s treated him with this information, Namjoon supposes all the fault lies with himself). 

 

“I -- I mean, you’re not  _ wrong _ , but I think -- maybe they...um,” Namjoon starts, but loses his confidence halfway as he feels his skin beginning to warm, feeling fuzzy and dazed. He knows what he wants to say, but it sounds vain, and also, Namjoon isn’t really  _ that _ important to anyone to make such a difference --

 

“Oh,” Hoseok cuts in again, visibly relaxing just the slightest bit. He’s wearing a somewhat smug expression on his face, and it doesn’t help tame Namjoon’s nerves at all. “You mean, they got along just for  _ you _ ,” he drawls, and Namjoon goes tense.

 

“No! That’s not -- I’m just --  _ me _ ,” Namjoon exclaims, jumping in his chair. In part, Namjoon does admit to having influenced both Jackson and Suga’s dispositions, but it couldn’t have been to  _ that _ degree. 

 

Hoseok’s expression turns perplexed, frowning with disbelief as he looks to Jinyoung. “How does he not get it? How has he not grasped this yet?” he sighs, and -- hey, rude, Namjoon is sitting right here.

 

“Might have to spell it out for him, as usual,” Jinyoung pulls his lips into a thin line, shaking his head.

 

“Okay, but I’ve trying that for  _ years _ ,” Hoseok points out, resting his jaw against his palm. 

 

Namjoon feels his ears burn (they make him sound like he’s some stubborn little kid), and he folds his arms. “Well -- wouldn’t me being there have made them angrier? Because --  _ you know  _ \-- ” he says indignantly, scowling lightly.

 

Hoseok laughs, but there isn’t any hint of condescension in his tone. “Trust me, Joon, you aren’t that kind of person,” he says, smiling.

 

“You really aren’t,” Jinyoung clips, adjusting his glasses absently.

 

Namjoon flushes, sinking into his chair. “What’s that supposed to mean,” he mumbles quietly, glowering weakly at the toes of his shoes. 

 

“It means you’re frustrating, but for completely different reasons, now please; carry on,” Jinyoung shrugs, as if the explanation is plain for anyone to see. 

 

Namjoon feels a protest rising up in the back of his throat, but he immediately swallows it down, because god fucking dammit, why couldn’t Hobi and Jinyoung have forgotten about the  _ things _ ? Namjoon just wants to fucking  _ live _ .

 

Namjoon swallows, biting at his lip, before he finally speaking up. “Okay, well, we were kind of...done with --  _ stuff _ , and I was kind of just -- about to tell Jackson something, when he sort of got up a-and -- ” Namjoon almost stops breathing completely at the memory of Jackson cupping his face, but he squeezes his eyes shut and presses on. “ -- kissed me,” he finishes, feeling his face heating up. The urge to cover his face is rapidly growing, but he resists, hands tucked beneath his arms.

 

“ _ No fucking way _ ,” Hoseok is gawking, and he’s...surprisingly not screaming at Namjoon? In fact, he sounds more elated than irritated (which, in retrospect, Namjoon probably should have seen coming, because this is how Hoseok had reacted when Namjoon had told him he was going to ask someone out for the first time). “And?”

 

Namjoon stares blankly. “And what?” he says flatly, blinking.

 

“And  _ details _ ,” Hoseok waves his arms, somehow able to avoid smacking Jinyoung’s glasses off. “Like, I know it was on the lips, but was it quick? Or, like, slow? Did he dip you? Did you dip him? These things are important -- ”

 

“It was quick!” Namjoon sort of yelps, because holy  _ shit _ , now he’s thinking about  _ everything _ , face feeling  _ way  _ too fucking warm. “He held my face when he leaned in, and it was really fast, and -- why am I telling you this?” he wails, raking his fingers through his bangs. Of course, Namjoon  _ still _ can’t keep his stupid mouth shut.

 

“Because it’s important,” Hoseok explains very unhelpfully, and he’s squinting at Namjoon. “So did he kiss you again? Because, I dunno, a quick peck on the lips is cute, but you  _ did _ say you had two kisses.”

 

Namjoon swallows, jaw quivering. “N-no…” he says, blinking rapidly at the ground.

 

Hoseok seems to realize the implication of Namjoon’s response, and Namjoon doesn’t know whether or not he should be grateful or mortified. “ _ You mean _ \-- ” he says, eyes wide. He glances at Jinyoung, who gives him a thoughtful nod. “ _ No fucking way _ .”

 

Namjoon wants to yell out  _ Me too! _ \-- because? Namjoon getting kissed by both people he’s absolutely smitten with, who both also somehow like Namjoon  _ back _ ? No fucking way is right --  but the only thing Namjoon gets out is a noise of distress, sliding further down his chair.

 

“I know; doesn’t seem believable,” Jinyoung says breezily, and --  _ okay _ , fucking  _ rude _ . Namjoon shoots him a peeved glare, because  _ hey _ , it might be unbelievable, but it isn’t like he has to say  _ out loud _ . Jinyoung responds with a sigh, but he doesn’t seem remorseful in the slightest. “But if you say so, I guess it must be true.”

 

Namjoon furrows his brow, because  _ that _ makes him feel better, and he nearly jumps when Hoseok launches back to life. “ _ Suga kissed you after Jackson did _ ?! Holy shit -- he must have been riled up when he saw Jackson kiss you -- please tell me he dipped you, oh my god -- ” Hobi rambles, and Namjoon just about dies.

 

“ _ Nobody dipped me _ \-- he pulled me close by the jaw and kissed me, and he sort of...maybe…” Namjoon splutters, voice fading as he recalls the touch of Suga’s tongue, and -- fuck -- _ fuck _ \--

 

“Maybe…?” Hoseok echoes, obviously intrigued, and god fucking dammit, why hadn’t Namjoon just leave it off at ‘kissed me?’ “ _ Maybe _ …?” Hoseok repeats himself, moving forward in his chair, and Namjoon shrinks.

 

“He used his tongue,” Namjoon blurts out, because at this point, he’ll do  _ anything _ to get Hoseok and Jinyoung off of his back about these -- _ things _ , and wait a second -- that actually -- sounded completely wrong, holy fuck, what if someone heard Namjoon, they’d get the completely wrong idea --

 

“ _ Holy shit _ ,” Hoseok says, sounding awed, and Namjoon can’t restrain himself any longer, hands flying up to cover his face. “So it was French? Shit, he must have  _ really  _ been ready to kiss you.”

 

“ _ It wasn’t French _ ,” Namjoon groans, because...Namjoon didn’t use his tongue. Namjoon didn’t even kiss Suga back -- didn’t respond to him  _ or _ Jackson -- he’d been shocked into stillness, kind of just taking in the fact that he was  _ being kissed, holy shit _ . “I just -- let them. Kiss me. Both of them. It just -- sort of -- happened.”

 

Hoseok quirks his mouth up to one corner, and of course, his interest hasn’t lessened any (it’s probably only gotten  _ stronger _ , with Namjoon’s non existent luck). “Oh, I see,” he muses, and Namjoon flushes, because what does  _ that  _ mean? “And so, I assume that sparks flew afterward?” he says, leaning forward, Namjoon gives him a quizzical look, and Hoseok just grins. “Y’know, with Jackson and Suga? Classical ‘hands off; he’s mine’ situation?”

 

“ _ No _ ,” Namjoon says, the terrible image of Suga and Jackson trying to hurt each other over  _ him _ flashing in his mind (just the thought of them being  _ hurt _ is awful enough). “No one punched each other, and no one gave any death threats,” he mumbles, chin tucked. Namjoon can’t say for sure whether or not Jackson and Suga thought about harming each other, but he can at least...hope that they came away peacefully...? Who is Namjoon kidding; they probably texted each other afterward to express their mutual desire to pound one another into the ground.

 

“ _ Really _ ,” Hoseok raises his eyebrows, leaning into the arm of his chair. “They didn’t get up in each other’s faces? Harsh glares, anything?”

 

Namjoon hugs his arms closer to his chest, closing his eyes. “No, they didn’t. Jackson saw it, didn’t make a fuss over it, took me home, and are we done talking about this?” he says frustratedly, looking from Hoseok to Jinyoung (who’s still just  _ staring _ ).

 

“I don’t know, is there anything else you want to share?” Jinyoung shrugs, taking a sip from his glass of water, and Namjoon kind of wants to punch his glasses in.

 

“I’m --  _ no _ ,” Namjoon says hurriedly, because honestly, he’s just  _ done _ . Surprised, and also relieved that Hoseok didn’t yell at him (for two hours straight), but very much done. He searches for any way out of this endless  _ Tell us about those Things, Namjoon! _ cycle, and the best he can do is turn the accusatory finger on Jinyoung, because -- “Well -- don’t  _ you _ have something to share?”

 

Jinyoung seems to be caught off guard, blinking as he sets his glass down. But of course, he’s able to keep his cool (a talent Namjoon lacks in whole). “Me?” he says, feigning incredulity. “You must be mistaken; I don’t share things.”

 

Namjoon wants to tug at his bangs, throw Jinyoung’s glasses into the Pacific Ocean and yell  _ Yes you do, you fucker _ , but he keeps himself stuck to his seat. “I’m talking about last week, when I swung by to visit you,” he begrudgingly elaborates, beginning to remember how worn out Jinyoung had seemed. That  _ had _ to have been something important; Jinyoung hadn’t even wanted to talk about it (and had threatened Jaebum’s clothing when he’d tried to give Namjoon an explanation).

 

Jinyoung’s expression turns the slightest notch tighter, and Namjoon just surprised he’s managed to hit a nerve at all with Jinyoung. Hopefully, with a week past, Jinyoung isn’t going to jump at Namjoon’s throat for bringing whatever it is that was (still is?) bothering him.

 

“Hah, turned that around real quick,” Hoseok grins in Jinyoung’s direction, and Namjoon praises him for taking his side. 

 

Jinyoung looks mildly affronted (slightly more than usual, because really, he almost always looks mildly affronted), obviously unwilling to divulge what’s eating at him.  _ Well, too fucking bad _ , Namjoon thinks.  _ Not like I was willing to divulge my things _ .

 

“ _ Hey _ \-- I was sort of compliant with you and Hobi -- the least you can do is admit something was up,” Namjoon says pointedly, sitting upright in his chair.

 

Jinyoung doesn’t really budge, though, just shifts uncomfortably in his seat, so Namjoon’s surprised when he actually responds. “Fine,” he sighs, pushing his glasses back by the bridge. “If you want to know what my problem is, it’s a couple of fucking idiots.”

 

Typically, Namjoon would say,  _ But Jinyoung, everyone’s a fucking idiot to you _ , but Jinyoung looks particularly stressed with this confession, so. Probably not the best idea. “Oh. At school? Music class?” he says instead, blinking.

 

“I told you what was up,” Jinyoung says tersely, and although he doesn’t say it outright, there’s an obvious  _ Now leave me alone _ hanging at the end of his sentence. 

 

“Okay, but Namjoon told us what’s up, so it’s only fair if you give your hundred-percent,” Hoseok reasons, nudging at Jinyoung’s elbow with a bright grin. “If it makes you feel better, I can talk about myself when you’re done, so we all can have a turn at the spotlight.”

 

Jinyoung exhales loudly, clearly reluctant to give in as he hunches his shoulders. “I’m dealing with two fuckboys, a hopeless millionaire who’s almost gets himself killed every two seconds, my class doesn’t have their shit together, I have to finish  the choreography for another incompetent group in the dance class I help in, and to top it all off, I’m still working,” he says, and -- well. That’s a lot. “And also Jackson,” he adds, as if Jackson’s a whole problem on his own, and Namjoon can’t help but laugh at the memory of the little spats Jinyoung has had with him.

 

“Fuckboys, huh?” Hoseok hums, tilting his head to the side. “Who? A bunch of eighteen year olds that forge their ID’s?” and -- hey, wait a second -- Namjoon’s actually kind of sure he knows who Jinyoung’s talking about --

 

“Oh, it’s Mark and...Yugyeom?” Namjoon says without a second thought. Mark is  _ definitely _ a fuckboy, no doubt about it, but Namjoon isn’t...quite as certain about Yugyeom, because a) Namjoon’s never actually talked to him and b) Jinyoung hasn’t exactly been specific about what’s so awful about Yugyeom (honestly, the only thing Namjoon remembers about him is that he’s tall and has red hair).

 

Apparently, the mention of their names is something Jinyoung was Not prepared to hear, and he curls his lip, as if he’s disgusted. “No --  _ don’t _ \-- ugh,” he says, rolling his eyes. Maybe it’s that Yugyeom and Mark are coming in to bother Jinyoung during his shifts more? That’s plausible, especially considering the fact that Jinyoung is friends with Jackson, so maybe Mark is venting whatever pent up frustration he has by making Jinyoung’s life miserable (maybe he strings Yugyeom along with him?).

 

“Hey, come on; you can tell us. If we judge, we’re gonna be judging the fuckboys, not you,” Hoseok presses calmly, and when Jinyoung glares back at him, Hoseok just smiles right back (thanks god for Jung Hoseok. Most of the time, anyways).

 

Jinyoung gathers himself closer, hands gripping at his arms with a sigh. “They keep coming in while I’m working just to fuck around with me. And it’s not to throw just the casual shade; he  keeps getting in my fucking face, and I --  _ ugh _ ,” he explains, visibly growing angrier at the thought as his eyebrows begin to furrow.

 

“Both of them?” Namjoon raises a brow, because if Yugyeom really  _ is _ trying shit with Jinyoung,  _ then _ Namjoon will believe he’s an asshole.

 

“I guess. I mean, Yugyeom’s there, but he never says anything. Probably just wants to watch me to suffer,” Jinyoung says, and  _ wow _ , Namjoon can pretty much  _ see _ the fire in his eyes. Still kind of unclear why Jinyoung doesn’t like Yugyeom, though.

 

“So...it’s only one fuckboy, then?” Hoseok says questioningly. “Because, I mean, fuckboys are bad, but one’s better than two.”

 

“No, Yugyeom’s a fuckboy. He comes in on his own a lot, orders his stupid fucking iced teas, the same shit every time. I don’t know why the fuck he won’t leave me alone,” Jinyoung practically spits, and Namjoon almost recoils, because holy  _ fuck _ Jinyoung really hates Yugyeom (almost sounds like he hates him more than Mark?).

 

Hoseok frowns. “What does he say?” he asks, and Namjoon’s glad he isn’t the only person asking. 

 

Jinyoung’s frown deepens, and honestly, Namjoon can already hear what he’s going to say -- “He’s a fucking  _ bastard _ , always mouthing off at me; I tell him to fuck off, but he keeps coming back,” Jinyoung says, and yeah, Namjoon feels like he predicted that answer pretty well.

 

“Wait a second, wait a second,” Hoseok holds a hand up. Jinyoung’s glare sharpens, but Hoseok doesn’t seem to care. “So he’s... _ flirting _ , with you,” he says elegantly, and holy  _ shit _ , how did Namjoon not think of that possibility himself ?

 

Of course, Jinyoung doesn’t take this suggestion very well, going absolutely still. “Hell fucking _ no _ , he isn’t,” he exclaims, a look of horror blooming behind the lenses of his glasses, and it’s almost as if the thought of this Yugyeom person being nice to him  _ disturbs _ him, more so than the thought of him being rude.

 

“Jinyoung, does Yugyeom actually do anything to try and piss you off?” Namjoon sighs, exasperation beginning to kick in quickly (but  _ really _ \-- what’s so wrong about Yugyeom buying iced teas? Maybe Yugyeom really  _ is _ a fuckboy, and maybe Jinyoung feels threatened by the prospect of someone showing interest in him, romantic or sexual or whatever). A part of him has a feeling he’s probably not going to get anywhere with that question, but the other part of him is feeling too exhausted (for a multitude of reasons) to care.

 

“He’s a  _ bastard _ ,” Jinyoung snarls contemptuously, and  _ great _ \-- here we go again (didn’t Jinyoung mention something about Yugyeom insulting Jaebum? Why isn’t he tackling  _ that _ ?). 

 

“Anything  _ other _ than him being a bastard,” Namjoon says airily. “And if you tell me he’s ‘just a fucking bastard’ one more time, I swear to fucking god I’m going to break into your apartment just to steal all of your glasses cleaners.”

 

And yeah, it’s sort of an empty threat (because Namjoon is one of the most inept living beings on the planet, no  _ way _ could he manage picking a lock -- he can make coffee, he can make music, and -- that’s it), but that’s besides the point; Namjoon just doesn’t want to have to hear Jinyoung whine about Yugyeom being a ‘fucking bastard’ for the next six months). It still works, though, because Jinyoung throws his hands up in the air, as if he’s being falsely accused of stealing cookies from the cookie jar.

 

“He keeps making the most ridiculous fucking comments, okay? He points out the thickness of my glasses, he snickers whenever I look his way, and whenever I’m  _ not _ looking at him, I swear he flips me off behind my back,” Jinyoung bursts, clearly agitated (by Namjoon and Hoseok or just Yugyeom, Namjoon doesn’t know). He’s quick to collect himself, though, crossing one leg over the other and inhaling coolly. “And he calls me a nerd.”

 

Namjoon half expects Hobi to at least laugh a little bit at that, but all Namjoon catches from him is the suspicious squint he tosses Jinyoung’s way. “I dunno, Jinnie,” Hoseok hums, pensive. “To me, it kind of looks like he’s trying to flirt with you. Emphasis on  _ trying _ .” Jinyoung’s eyes go wide at that, and if Namjoon didn’t know better, he’d think he looks kind of...terrified? “I mean, you could always introduce me to him? Like, so I could get a better feel for what’s going with you two, and maybe even -- ” Hobi pauses, finally catching onto Jinyoung’s horror, and he snickers. “Or not; you guys could totally just keep your little spitfire isolated, that’s fine with me.”

 

Jinyoung rolls his eyes, and Namjoon can’t help but laugh a little, too. “Neither of you would want to meet him,  _ trust me _ ,” Jinyoung grumbles, almost to himself. Namjoon remembers that he actually  _ has _ met Yugyeom, in a more inadvertent way. Yugyeom was one of the people posted outside his hospital room; the guy that talked to himself every now and then and drank iced teas --

 

“Oh,” Namjoon blinks, realizing that it must have been  _ Jinyoung _ that’s been giving Yugyeom his iced teas (Jinyoung mentions that Yugyeom ordered iced teas a lot, so it sort of makes sense?). 

 

“What,” Jinyoung deadpans, and it’s getting pretty clear that he’s finished with the topic of Yugyeom (especially with that look of pure death in his eyes, oh god).

 

“N...nothing,” Namjoon shakes his head. It’s probably not the brightest idea to just tell Jinyoung that Yugyeom had been a guard for him; it’d probably lead Jinyoung to fear that Yugyeom had done something to hurt Namjoon (which, he didn’t? They didn't even talk once).

 

“Good, because I’m done talking about this,” Jinyoung huffs with resolve, sitting back in his chair again. He glances from Namjoon to Hoseok, beginning to gesture weakly in Hoseok’s direction. “Your turn.”

 

Hoseok grins, and, unsurprisingly, seems more than prepared to reveal any detail about his private life. “Okay, well,” he smacks his lips, looking up at the sky. “Taetae took me out for a beach boardwalk date? It was a really nice surprise, though he was just gonna take me out for dinner.”

 

Namjoon nods slowly (definitely not gonna ask what they did afterward), remembering Hoseok’s mentioning of  _ Date night with Taetae _ the other night. And then, Namjoon also remembers the fact that he doesn’t remember when exactly Taehyung returned home, so -- “What time did you get back?” Namjoon asks, easing up in his seat.

 

“Me? Uh, we stayed out until twelve. One. Twelve thirty? Ish. Somewhere around that. We hung out at the boardwalk all night; didn’t have time to do too much else,” Hoseok says, a look of reminiscence in his eye, and Namjoon is already beginning to feel the waves of warmth rolling off of him. 

 

“You seem to be going on a lot of dates as of recent,” Jinyoung snorts, a hint of amusement hidden somewhere in his tone as he takes a sip of his water. 

 

Hoseok shrugs, still all smiles and sunshine. “Well, I mean, dates are fun. Boyfriends are fun.  _ Taetae _ is fun. Like, he’s a koala bear; we were holding each other at least eighty five percent of the time we were at the fair,” he says, a little wistful, and Namjoon can feel his elation flowing steady. “And he’s literally the sweetest guy ever. And also really funny. And we  _ both _ tell jokes  _ and _ laugh at them.”

 

“Someone’s a sap,” Jinyoung says, smug as he moves his elbows further up the arms of his chair.

Namjoon almost laughs, but it’s because, honestly, Jinyoung’s probably an even bigger sap than Hobi ever would be (Namjoon just has a hunch; like, he’s  _ seen _ what Jinyoung reads).

 

“A  _ happy _ sap, thanks,” Hoseok corrects effortlessly. “You gotta find what makes you happiest in life, and in my case, I’ve got Taetae.”

 

Jinyoung pretends to gag, a gesture most likely ignored by Hoseok, and Namjoon laughs a little. “I doubt that hand holding and texts at two in the morning are going to make me happiest in life,” Jinyoung says crisply. “Graduating before I have my first heart attack is what’s going to make me happy.”

 

Namjoon laughs a little, until he realizes that he kind of knows exactly what’d make him happiest in life, and he kind of has to pause and clear his throat. Yeah; it’d be nice to see Jackson and Suga get along, maybe even be friends, and Namjoon could just not be a total, indecisive dick.

 

Hoseok sighs, lolling his head to the side. “Come  _ on _ , it was  _ fun _ . Y’know, I could have taken you guys, I swear Taetae and I wouldn’t have ignored you. Or! Or, you guys could take dates yourselves -- you could take Jaebum, or Namjoon, Jinnie. Platonic friend dates. Those are fun.”

 

Jinyoung sniffs. “No, not interested in dating anytime soon. Too much shit to worry about right now,” he says, which is a pretty reasonable excuse. Namjoon doesn’t remember whether or not Jinyoung ever mentioned having actually dated someone before, but he kind of seems like the type of person with that kind of experience (he at  _ least _ seems like the type of person who’s kissed before; that’s what his comments in the whole... _ hickey _ conversation from a while back seemed to say).

 

Hoseok’s mouth drops open, probably to suggest another name, but he doesn’t say anything (lord help him if he was about to say Yugyeom). He catches Namjoon looking at him, and -- oh, fuck, he’s got that stupid  _ I’ve got a brilliant idea that’s actually Not _ grin, and he’s using it on  _ Namjoon _ , not Jinyoung (which can only mean more Bad Things™ for Namjoon).

 

“Alright, well, I know  _ Joon’s _ interested in dating,” Hoseok says, right as Namjoon’s reaching for his iced tea, and  _ god fucking dammit _ \--

 

“ _ Okay _ ,” Namjoon coughs, raising his wrist to his mouth (he almost spat iced tea everywhere; thanks Hobi). He knows exactly what Hobi’s about to say, and he’s not going to have any of it. “Okay,  _ wait a second _ \-- ”

 

“You could have taken Jackson and Suga with you!” Hoseok is already saying, eyes lighting up. “Or, scratch that -- you should just ask them both on a date. Like, today. Fucking incredible,” he says, grinning with satisfaction, and, okay, that idea might sound actually kind of wonderful, and also might have Namjoon shuddering at the thought of going on a  _ date _ with the  _ both of them _ , but also,  _ what the fuck _ \--

 

“They’d  _ kill _ each other,” Namjoon chokes, already envisioning Suga strangling Jackson for asking about why cats and dogs hate each other so much. Namjoon doesn’t think they’d be able to take two steps without insulting each other or flipping each other off (and of course, it’s all because of Namjoon; god, he’s such an  _ asshole _ ).

 

“Oh,  _ come on _ ,” Hoseok says for the second time, only this time, he’s trying and failing to hold his laughter back, and hand raised to his mouth. “They’re not gonna do anything with you around. At least, not anything  _ violent _ . Probably.”

 

Namjoon is about to protest, because yeah -- Jackson and Suga might have been... _ peaceful _ , on that night with --  _ things _ , but that wasn’t a  _ date _ . A date is supposed to have smiles and laughter and jokes and being comfortable (according to Hoseok, anyways), and god, there’s no  _ way _ the two of them were comfortable with each other that night. Namjoon doesn’t want to know how much  _ more _ uncomfortable they’d be for a full fledged two hours plus -- but Jinyoung cuts in before Namjoon can even lean forward all the way in his seat.

 

“Honestly, they’d probably be on their best behavior, trying to out do each other to see who can be the best behaved. Men and competition, I guess,” Jinyoung says informatively, and Namjoon can’t fucking  _ believe his ears _ . He gives Jinyoung his best disbelieving look, but Jinyoung just nails him with an absolutely serious stare. “They’d do it for you, Namjoon.”

 

Namjoon blinks, because...that was kind of unexpected. And Namjoon figures that Jinyoung and Hoseok actually might be right -- it’s possible that Suga and Jackson would go out of their way to seem like they were fine, that they weren’t upset or hurt. But it’s equally possible that they... _ wouldn’t _ ; that they’d argue and bicker and be bitter. Either way, they’d be acting however they’d be acting for  _ Namjoon _ , even outside the realm of a date. 

 

And that thought has Namjoon feeling kind of...horrified? Because he’s never had that kind of --  _ power _ over someone, over  _ anyone _ , and he doesn’t  _ want _ to, doesn’t want to be so capable of manipulating the two people he cares for so much to make them be so --  _ extreme _ ; frustrated and resentful to the point where they’d burst, or calm to the point where they’d be outright lying to themselves, simmering in their own . He doesn’t want  _ either _ of those things.

 

And Namjoon realizes that...that’s unrealistic, though, too ask for middle ground. A part of him tells him that extremes are unavoidable, and that is isn’t possible for him to just shove them out of the way. He just wishes he wasn’t  _ hurting _ Jackson and Suga so much -- them suffering is a terrible,  _ awful _ thought, has Namjoon’s heart twisting and aching.

 

“Yeah! They’d listen to you, Joon, I’m telling you. I bet they’re whipped as hell already, cause I know  _ I’d _ be whipped if I fell for you,” Hoseok says breezily, hands folded in his lap.

 

“But I don’t want -- ”  _ to tell them what to do _ , Namjoon almost says, but that isn’t...completely true. There’s... _ one _ thing that Namjoon would ask of them, and that would be to try and get along, but that’s so terribly  _ selfish _ and more than a little cruel. But...all Namjoon wants is for them to be  _ happy _ . “I just...” Namjoon sighs, running his fingers through his bangs. “I just want them get along. I don’t care if they’re up for anything I ask, they’d be miserable and they probably  _ are _ miserable right now, and a date would just make things worse.”

 

Hoseok’s smile softens, eyes sympathetic, and he’s quiet for a moment. He’s thinking, Namjoon can tell, watching Namjoon close. “I still really think you should try it,” Hoseok says, and Namjoon feels sick to his stomach. It must show on his face, because Hoseok starts to laugh. “Don’t freak out, I’m sure it couldn’t be  _ that _ bad.”

 

Namjoon wants to tell Hoseok that it  _ definitely _ could be that bad, but Jinyoung’s talking again, supporting Hobi, of course. “I think you should consider it,” Jinyoung nods, and Namjoon knows that’s Jinyoung-speak for  _ You definitely need to do it _ . “I think it’d make it easier to...choose.” And Namjoon’s eyes widen in shock, because he can’t  _ believe _ Jinyoung just suggested that -- that Namjoon  _ choose _ between them because of a  _ date _ .

 

“It’d make it even  _ more _ difficult to pick, and I’m not going to just...know what to do after one date,” Namjoon objects, but he can already sense that neither Jinyoung or Hoseok really want to change their minds (well, Namjoon isn’t going to change his mind either). It’s  _ easy _ for Jinyoung and Hoseok to say and think it’d be easy, but it  _ isn’t _ ; it’s all uncharted territory and Namjoon has no idea where he’s going.

 

Hoseok spares a brief glance in Jinyoung’s direction, before redirecting his focus back on Namjoon. “Well, don’t you think it would at least be a little fun? You know, sometimes not knowing what exactly’s gonna happen is --  _ fun _ . You’re always on your toes, and, who knows, something good might happen,” he says, persistent.

 

“But couldn’t something  _ bad _ happen? I can’t -- I can’t hurt them like that,” Namjoon sighs, beginning to feel tired. He just -- he just  _ can’t _ do it; not if it means Jackson and Suga are going to get hurt even more.

 

“You aren’t going to hurt them,” Jinyoung clips, curt. “I know Jackson would love to spend time with you, Namjoon, anytime, any place. And I’m sure that Suga would, too. They  _ both _ want to you to be happy, and you want  _ them _ to be happy,” he says, eyes level with Namjoon’s.

 

Namjoon exhales deep, words swirling in his head. There’s the possibility that, even if Namjoon and Suga and Jackson do enjoy themselves, afterward, the tension will worsen, and the divide between Jackson and Suga would widen even more. But...Namjoon can’t deny that he wants to be with  _ both _ Jackson and Suga. Jinyoung’s right; he wants them to be happy, and  _ they _ want  _ him _ to be happy.

 

“You want them to get along, right? This would...sort of be a good start. Kind of weird, but good. I mean, they’ll be talking with each other, and even if it’s just a bunch of arguing, at least they’ll be talking with each other,” Hoseok adds in, smile brightening. “It’s not  _ perfect _ , but then again, fuck perfection.”

 

Namjoon laughs, soft. “I guess,” he says quietly, looking up from the edge of the table. Hobi has a point; it isn’t like Jackson and Suga are going to become best friends overnight.

 

“Hey -- Jackson kissed you, and Suga didn’t kill him, and Suga kissed you, and Jackson didn’t kill him. To me, that’s sort of already past step one of a blossoming friendship,” Hoseok says, tone teasing, and Namjoon swallows at the memory of both kisses, head spinning.

 

“Guess that must mean they’re best friends already,” Jinyoung says, sarcasm evident in his tone and in the way he rolls his eyes.

 

“Suga and Jackson are -- cooperating?” Namjoon says, surprised to hear himself laughing. It is sort of... _ official _ , that Jackson and Suga are going to cooperate with this whole... _ thing _ . Maybe that...maybe that means there is a chance that a date with the three of them wouldn’t be so...terrible. Maybe Namjoon’s just being stupid; he’s the one that wanted Suga and Jackson to get along in the first place -- he should be more open minded about everything. 

 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Hoseok hums, sipping from his water. 

 

Another silence settles over their table, and this time...Namjoon’s actually considering agreeing to this whole... _ thing _ . Yeah, it’s definitely possible that everything could go wrong, internal or external, and yeah, it could potentially damage Jackson and Suga’s relationship even more, but...there’s the chance that it could go at least  _ okay _ . Maybe Namjoon can get Suga and Jackson to see what Namjoon sees in the both of them. And maybe they could all enjoy themselves,  _ together _ .

 

The three of them, happy.  _ Together _ .

 

It’s a sort of far fetched fantasy, but hey. Namjoon can dream.

 

“So?” Hoseok pipes up, flicking his bangs from his face. Jinyoung’s looking at him, too, composed. Namjoon swallows.

 

“Uh,” Namjoon bites at his lip. “I’ll -- I’ll t...ry it,” he says slowly, heart pounding a little faster. Half of him is screaming,  _ No, what the fuck are you doing, this could go so fucking wrong _ , and he accepts it. Accepts that this could all go to shit, and that he might be making a mistake out of pure selfishness, but -- but Namjoon just wants Suga and Jackson to be  _ happy _ , and if this is the way forward, he’s going to walk it.

 

“ _ Fuck yeah _ !” Hoseok is cheering, raising a fist in the air, and he’s tipping dangerously far forward in his seat. “Okay, okay, so when? And also where? Shit, you should go to the boardwalk, plenty of opportunities to hold hands. You could hold hands with  _ both _ of them, there’s so much space, andd I know you want to hold both of your hubbies’ hands. And holy shit, you could -- ”

 

“ _ First _ ,” Jinyoung interrupts cleanly, and when he looks to Namjoon, Namjoon sends him a thankful glance. “When are you available, Namjoon?”

 

Namjoon swallows, curling his fingers against his palm. “Uh, the usual days?” he answers mutely, before realizing -- they’re -- they’re trying to plan everything for him -- “And hey, why am  _ I _ not the one planning this -- ”

 

“Perfect! So you’re free on…” Hoseok purses his lips, counting on his fingers wordlessly. He looks to Jinyoung, and he’s got a stupid grin on his face, and Jinyoung does, too, and -- shit.  _ Fuck _ .

 

“Seriously,” Namjoon says loudly, because this is looking very Not Good™, and he  _ swears _ if they pull something on Namjoon --

 

“We’re making it easier for you,” Jinyoung says curtly, tapping his fingers against his lap. 

 

_ Bullshit _ , Namjoon almost says, because this is making Namjoon’s life even  _ harder _ . How can he prepare for a date when he doesn’t even know when or where it’s going to be? And how can he tell Suga and Jackson ahead of time?

 

“Anyways, we’ll touch base later,” Jinyoung says decidedly, already beginning to stand, and -- hey --  _ hey _ \--

 

“Wait, am I just supposed to -- ” Namjoon splutters, but Hoseok finishes for him.

 

“ -- Let us plan everything out? Pretty much,” Hoseok smiles sweetly, tugging his car keys out from his pocket.

 

Namjoon just stares, watching as they both rise from their seats, exchanging a few murmurs. Of  _ course _ this is what was going to happen; Namjoon should have seen this coming.

 

“You’re supposed to be my friends, not two assholes,” Namjoon says begrudgingly, arms folded as he stands, following after Hoseok when he passes him.

 

“We’re kind of both,” Hoseok says, shrugging, and Namjoon rolls his eyes, doesn’t say anything else as he makes his way to his side of the car.

 

“Keep me updated,” Jinyoung calls from his car, swinging the door open.

 

Namjoon already knows he’s talking to Hobi, and with a heavy sigh (loud, so Jinyoung can hear it), opens his door and slips into his seat.

 

“You bet your ass I will,” Hoseok says back, smiling, and Namjoon smacks him clean in the shoulder. Hoseok just ignores the blow (of course he does, he’s got muscles of steel; he probably didn’t even feel it), sliding into the driver’s seat. “Later, Jinyoung!” he yells, before closing his door.

 

Namjoon catches Jinyoung mouthing a  _ See you _ , but all Namjoon sends back his way is a half-hearted glare and a weak wave. Jinyoung grins at him before sliding into his car.

 

“You realize I’m not going to feed you any more information now,” Namjoon says, once Hoseok’s begun to pull out of the parking lot. God, he can’t believe he walked into this so stupidly.

 

“You realize that I don’t give a fuck,” Hoseok retorts with a smile. Namjoon rolls his eyes, knocking his temple against the side of the car door.

 

It stays quiet between them, Namjoon reciting ways to get his way out of future Hobi-Jinyoung interrogations while Hoseok hums to the music. Distantly, he can hear Hoseok changing the channels again, but Namjoon’s (also again) too preoccupied to complain. And Namjoon’s actually getting kind of into it, too, kind of proud of how seriously he’s taking his own plans, and he jumps when he feels Hobi lay his hand over Namjoon’s own.

 

“What’s up?” Namjoon blinks over at Hoseok, as they begin slowing down for a red light.

 

Hoseok rests his other hand against the wheel, tapping a finger to the beat of whatever mainstream pop song is playing. Once he comes to a full stop, he turns to Namjoon, smiling, and it feels almost...sad? Or maybe hopeful is a better word.

 

“I just want you to be happy,” Hoseok says, voice a murmur, and he squeezes at Namjoon’s fingers with a familiar fondness.

 

Namjoon returns the squeeze with a smile of his own. “I just want Jackson and Suga to be happy,” he says, honest. To see them smiling, hear them laughing, have them be  _ happy _ ; that’s what Namjoon wants.

 

Hoseok laughs, but it’s not out of ridicule. “Y’know,” he clears his throat. “I think that their happiness is your happiness, and your happiness is their happiness.”

 

Namjoon smiles a little wider. “You really think so?”

 

Hoseok raises a brow, as if he’s offended by Namjoon’s doubt. “I  _ really  _ think so,” he affirms, before beginning to move forward just as the light turns green, hand sliding away from Namjoon’s to return to the wheel. “It’s actually kinda cool, too, considering the fact that you aren’t actually together with them yet.”

 

Namjoon blinks, once, twice. “I’m glad you have confidence in me,” he says, half sardonic, half grateful, before turning his forehead back to the window, watching the blurs of greens and splotches of color pass before his eyes.

 

“Of course I do, are you kidding me?” Hoseok scoffs, and Namjoon can see his smirk, lopsided and genuine. It has Namjoon feeling...confident. Or maybe assured is a better word, because Namjoon hardly has any confidence in himself for any of this --  _ stuff _ .

 

The remainder of the drive goes on in silence, again, save for the music Hoseok blasts at ninety six percent volume. Namjoon thinks about all the possible dates he could go on with Suga and Jackson, and all the possibilities that come along with each scenario. A part of him is snagged a little, though, on Hobi’s words:  _ together _ and  _ them _ , and  _ yet _ . Namjoon knows that Hobi was referring to one or the other, but his mind doesn’t stop looping those words over and over -- Namjoon,  _ together with them _ .

 

Namjoon wonders how Hoseok can be so confident in him -- confident that Namjoon will be able to choose what to do at all.

 

♪

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for reading !!!! again i apologize for the massive delay ahskhsks ;;;;;; as i mentioned before, i've decided to write an interlude chapter !! and yes, it's going to star someone other than namjoon, jackson, and suga. but what i also decided is that i want to hear what _you_ guys want out of this chapter !! you're all so wonderful and lovely, i want to thank you again for everything !! this interlude chapter really is going to be dedicated to you guys ;;;;; 
> 
> i have a survey concerning this interlude chapter, who it will star, what it will be about, etc etc, and i would greatly appreciate it if you filled it out ;; it's just a quick five question survey, it shouldn't take any longer than two minutes !! you can take it [here](https://aka8.typeform.com/to/sNg2ke)! 
> 
> again, thank you all so much for your support and love, i don't think i'll ever be able to repay you ! ;; i'll see you sometime in the future, and i look forward to getting out this interlude chapter !!! 'v'
> 
> ah, almost forgot: i do have a tumblr, where i'll post updates n stuffs about hoc, so if you have any questions about hoc or the interlude chapter or ever just want to scream at me about literally anything feel free to @ **[got7teenyeondan](http://got7teenyeondan.tumblr.com)**! i love chatting with you all so much, pls don't feel too shy to say hello !!! (bc i assure you i am the Shyest smol hshdkjdks) my askbox n messages are always _always_ open to you guys !! :*

**Author's Note:**

> so that was a chapter, haha. please feel free to comment about what you thought of it, especially if you have any questions (to which i will always try to answer to the best of my ability) ! i hope the read was enjoyable 'o'


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